THE  ROAD 
TH  SALLIE 

Prances R.  Sterrett 


J 


X 


s* 


UP  THE  ROAD 
WITH  SALLIE 


"'  Well,  for  the  love  of  Mike  ! '   they  murmured  in  unison." 

[PAGE  86.] 


UP  THE   ROAD 
WITH   SALLIE 


BY 

FRANCES  R.  STERRETT 


AUTHOB  OF  "THE  JAM  QIBL" 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 
C.    H.    TAFFS 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


To 
the  men  of  the  family 

EDWARD  E. 

and 
EDWARD  J. 


2138296 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Well,  for  the  love  of  Mike ! '  they  murmured  in 

>  unison." Frontispiece 


FACING 

PAGE 


"'It  is  an  orchard.'     She  was  delighted."    ....         48 

"Two  men  had  driven  to  the  gate." 198 

"  '  I  am  Mrs.  Cabot,  Mrs.  Joshua  Cabot  of  Waloo.'  "  .        284 


UP  THE  ROAD 
WITH   SALLIE 


CHAPTER    I 

SALLIE  WATERS  giggled.  That  tells  you  at 
once  that  she  was  a  light-minded  person.  No  one 
but  a  light-minded  person  would  have  ventured 
even  the  echo  of  a  giggle  in  the  Cabot  drawing-room. 
But  just  at  that  moment  Sallie  Waters  had  a  feeling  in 
each  of  her  two  hundred  and  eight  bones  that  she  must 
giggle  or  die  and  she  preferred  disgrace  to  extinction. 
At  the  same  time  her  fingers  flew  to  her  lips  as  if  to 
prevent  a  repetition  of  the  misdemeanor. 

As  he  heard  the  soft  little  chuckle  her  eldest  cousin 
— cousin  by  courtesy  only — added  a  full  portion  of  hor- 
rified surprise  to  the  solemnity  of  his  countenance  and 
her  youngest  courtesy  cousin  looked  across  the  room 
with  eager  curiosity  combined  with  envy  as  if  he,  too, 
would  like  to  find  something  that  held  a  trace  of  amuse- 
ment. The  between  courtesy  cousins  both  gave  excel- 
lent representations  of  shocked  amazement. 

There  were  five  people  beside  the  giggling  Sallie  in 
the  vast  drawing-room  and  they  looked  like  ill-arranged 


Up  the  Road  with  Sailie 


spots  on  a  large  surface.  Neither  the  decoration  nor 
the  furniture  were  of  any  particular  period  or  style  but 
ran  from  one  into  the  other  in  a  manner  that  gave  an  air 
of  old-fashioned  dignity  and  space  that  was  rather  pleas- 
ing. From  either  end  of  the  ornate  ceiling  hung  glitter- 
ing collections  of  tinkling  prisms  that  did  duty  as 
chandeliers  and  that  matched  in  age  the  faded  lambre- 
quins at  the  windows  that  had  been  in  and  out  and  were 
now  in  fashion  again.  There  were  not  many  pictures  on 
the  walls,  that  were  hung  with  a  soft  gray  silk  paneled 
with  white  molding — a  steel  engraving  of  one  of  Rosa 
Bonheur's  stags,  whose  eyes  followed  you  suspiciously 
to  all  corners  of  the  room ;  an  Inness  landscape,  a  Wins- 
low  Homer  seascape  and  at  the  end  of  the  room,  like  a 
shrine,  hung  a  small  Corot  that  Judge  Cabot  had  bought 
in  Paris  for  far,  far  less  than  a  song. 

"Picked  it  up  at  a  junk  shop,"  how  he  loved  to  tell 
the  story!  "It  was  in  a  mess  of  furniture  and  china 
and  the  Lord  knows  what  else.  I  saw  what  it  was  the 
minute  I  put  my  eyes  on  it.  The  man  was  eager  to  let 
me  have  it  for  anything  I  would  give  him  but  I  wouldn't 
listen  to  that.  I  never  yet  took  advantage  of  any  man," 
virtuously,  "and  I  wasn't  going  to  begin  with  an  old 
French  second-hand  dealer.  I  made  him  put  a  price  on 
it  and  I  got  it  for  twenty  francs.  That's  four  dollars, 
you  know,"  kindly  putting  the  amount  into  a  denomina- 
tion that  could  not  be  misunderstood.  "Four  dollars! 


Up  the  Road  tvith  Sallie 


Why  the  frame  alone  cost  five  times  that  much  and  as 
for  the  picture — I  hate  to  think  what  it  would  be  worth 
today!" 

Not  far  from  the  bargain  Corot  stood  a  marble 
pedestal  holding  a  bust  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  as  a 
boy.  Napoleon  had  been  Judge  Cabot's  hero.  The 
Judge  had  been  a  small  man  and  he  flattered  himself, 
as  so  many  short  men  have  done,  that  he  had  a  strong 
resemblance  to  the  great  Corsican,  that  features  and 
character  were  cast  in  the  Napoleonic  mold.  Whether 
they  were  or  not  there  was  no  doubt  that  Judge  Cabot 
had  been  considerable  of  a  personage  and  had  played 
an  important  part  in  the  affairs  of  men  and  nations 
while  in  his  home  circle — not  even  Bonaparte  had  been 
more  autocratic.  In  the  Cabot  library  one  side  of  the 
wall  had  been  given  over  to  volumes  on  Napoleon  and 
his  times  and  above  the  low  cases  were  rare  old  prints, 
Napoleon  mounted,  Napoleon  on  foot,  Napoleon  hatted 
and  coated  in  the  famous  gray  redingote,  Napoleon 
seated  in  his  tent  and  on  his  throne  alone  and  with  the 
King  of  Rome  in  his  arms.  The  big  armchair  before 
the  fireplace,  that  had  been  the  Judge's  own,  was  thickly 
carved  with  initials — J.  A.  C.,  for  Joshua  Alden  Ca- 
bot. You  see  the  Judge  even  shared  with  Napoleon 
the  reprehensible  habit  of  carving  his  initials  on  the 
arms  of  chairs  while  he  pondered  weighty  matters. 
Madame  la  Mere  should  have  smacked  her  famous  son 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


more  soundly  when  he  and  the  habit  were  both  small. 
And  Friday  was  Judge  Cabot's  big  day  as  it  had  been 
Bonaparte's.  On  Friday  Judge  Cabot  had  come  into 
the  world  and  on  a  Friday  he  had  left  it.  There  was 
not  a  member  of  the  Cabot  family,  to  the  very  outlying 
connections,  who  did  not  loathe  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
and  all  the  other  Bonapartes,  from  the  biggest  head  to 
the  smallest  foot,  Joseph,  Lucien,  Eliza,  Louis,  yes, 
even  Pauline  and  Caroline  and  Jerome.  Judge  Cabot's 
admiration  and  faithful  imitation  had  made  enemies  for 
the  Bonapartes  of  one  entire  family. 

On  a  teakwood  table  against  the  drawing-room  wall 
was  a  lacquered  box  inlaid  with  silver.  It  represented 
the  gratitude  of  a  famous  Chinese  statesman  whom  the 
Judge  had  aided.  It  held  many  little  lacquered  inlaid 
boxes  that  in  turn  held  counters  for  games  of  all  sorts, 
fascinating  bits  of  mother  of  pearl,  square,  round, 
oblong  or  in  the  shape  of  little  fishes  and  all  were  carved 
on  one  side  with  the  emblems  of  good  luck  and  on  the 
other  with  Judge  Cabot's  initials.  Sallie  Waters  had 
loved  to  play  with  the  counters  when  she  was  a  little 
girl  and  once  had  managed  to  surreptitiously  conceal  a 
pearl  fish  about  her  small  person.  It  had  been  discov- 
ered at  bedtime  when  her  shoes  were  removed  and  she 
had  never  forgotten  the  resultant  fervid  dissertation  on 
theft  and  the  ultimate  destination  of  all  people,  large 
or  small,  who  appropriated  property  that  did  not  belong 


Up  the  Road  'with  Sallie 


to  them.  It  made  her  unwilling  to  confess  that  another 
fish  had  been  concealed  behind  the  ribbon  on  her  hat. 
Sallie  had  that  fish  to  this  day  and  as  she  looked  at 
the  old  lacquered  box  and  remembered  the  thrill  with 
which  she  had  appropriated  the  property  of  another  she 
wondered  if  that  possibly  could  be  the  reason  she  had 
grown  up  so  light-minded.  That  was  when  she  had 
giggled. 

None  of  her  people  were  light-minded.  The  painted 
grandparents,  who  hung  in  the  hall  in  their  square  old- 
fashioned  gilt  frames  gave  an  impression  of  everything 
but  light  minds.  Her  present  generation?  Sallie  shook 
her  head  as  she  looked  from  one  of  the  younger  Cabots 
to  another.  The  older  one?  She  eyed  her  Great-aunt 
Martha  reflectively.  She  had  never  felt  that  she  knew 
her  Aunt  Martha,  who  had  been  so  overshadowed  by  the 
Napoleonic  Judge  that  few  people  had  really  known 
her,  but  now  that  the  Judge  had  been  gathered  to  his 
fathers  with  such  ceremony  and  state  she  might  pos- 
sibly get  within  real  speaking  distance.  She  wondered 
if  she  would  care  to,  if  she  would  find  it  amusing,  as 
she  looked  at  Madame  Cabot  sitting  in  the  carved 
Gothic  chair  beneath  the  Corot.  Her  delicate  hands — 
Sallie  had  never  seen  such  hands  out  of  a  Van  Dyke 
portrait — with  their  flashing  rings  were  placidly  resting 
on  the  heads  of  the  griffons  which  kindly  formed  the 
arms.  Her  satin-shod  feet,  discreetly  crossed  at  the 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ankles  under  her  black  satin  gown,  as  she  had  been 
taught  in  her  first  lesson  in  polite  deportment,  were  on  a 
low  carved  footstool.  She  had  every  appearance  of  be- 
ing enthroned — Age  enthroned — and  no  real  queen  ever 
looked  more  bored.  It  was  the  shadow  of  polite  for- 
bearance on  her  face  that  made  Sallie  think  that  per- 
haps, just  perhaps,  she  might  find  her  great  aunt  in- 
teresting. 

At  Madame  Cabot's  right  was  her  eldest  niece,  Rose 
Cabot,  who  had  been  idly  wondering  if  she  would  be  able 
to  keep  her  figure  and  have  a  skin  as  soft  and  clear  as 
her  aunt  when  she  was  sixty-three,  until  Sallie's  most 
unwarranted  little  giggle  roused  her  to  the  realization 
that  she  was  not  doing  her  share  toward  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  evening.  She  frowned  at  Sallie  and  leaned 
forward  a  bit  as  if  to  hide  from  Her  Majesty  the  person 
who  could  be  guilty  of  an  act  of  such  levity  when  in  the 
Presence. 

On  the  left,  as  a  prime  minister  might  have  sat,  was 
Richard,  the  eldest  Cabot  nephew.  His  position  in  the 
big  armchair,  that  until  a  year  ago  had  always  been 
reserved  for  Judge  Joshua  Cabot,  told  the  most  casual 
observer  that  he  belonged  to  the  group  of  men  who  are 
grand,  upright  and  square.  The  piano  type,  Sallie 
called  him  with  a  frivolous  remembrance  of  an  old 
conundrum.  Richard  was  the  cashier  of  the  Waloo 
National  Bank  and  everyone  agreed  with  him  in  the 

6 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


expectation  that  some  day  he  would  be  the  president 
of  the  Waloo  National  Bank.  There  was  absolutely 
nothing  that  the  bank  could  do  to  avert  this  but  fail  or 
go  out  of  business  and  Richard  would  see  that  it  did 
neither.  The  present  president  knew  it  as  well  as  any- 
one and  groaned  every  time  Richard  had  a  birthday.  It 
was  as  plain  as  plain  that  Richard  would  take  his  chair 
from  him  as  soon  as  he  was  old  enough  and  in  his  turn 
decide  whether  to  loan  a  little  more  money  to  Smith  or 
whether  to  put  the  screws  a  little  tighter  on  Jones. 
Richard  already  was  a  master  of  credits,  loans,  efficiency, 
overhead  expenses  and  all  the  other  subjects  that  the 
financier  must  have  at  his  finger  tips  today  to  be  suc- 
cessful. 

In  strange  contrast  to  the  grand,  upright  and 
square,  Richard  was  the  slender  Philip  Cabot  who  sug- 
gested a  willow-tree  rather  than  a  piano  as  he  stood 
before  the  fireplace,  his  head  thrown  back  as  if  in  rapt 
contemplation  of  the  chubby  Cupids  who  played  in  a 
tangle  of  roses  and  blue  ribbons  on  the  ceiling  all  day, 
and  all  night,  too.  But  Philip  cared  not  a  copper  cent 
for  the  chubby  Cupids ;  indeed,  he  never  saw  them,  he 
was  too  absorbed  in  a  mental  calculation  of  how  many 
day  nurseries  he  would  establish  and  maintain  if  he  had 
a  half,  a  quarter,  of  the  income  of  his  Aunt  Martha. 
Philip  never  saw  his  aunt  but  he  saw  her  income  and 
made  a  mental  calculation.  Sometimes  it  was  for  day 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


nurseries,  sometimes  for  mothers'  pensions,  occasionally 
for  homes  for  old  people ;  for,  if  Richard  knew  all  about 
capital,  its  habits,  Philip  was  equally  well  versed  in 
poverty  and  could,  at  a  moment's  notice,  give  you  facts 
and  statistics  and  incidents  that  would  make  you  shiver 
or  weep,  as  he  deemed  best. 

Stanley,  the  youngest  of  the  Cabots,  yawned  openly 
and  unafraid  and  after  an  aimless  journey  around  the 
room  in  which  he  fingered  the  lacquered  box,  nodded 
his  head  at  the  Bonheur  stag,  snapped  his  fingers  at  the 
Corot,  turned  up  his  nose  at  the  youthful  Napoleon, 
threw  himself  into  the  friendly  arms  of  the  most  com- 
fortable chair  in  the  room  with  a  sigh.  Stanley  was  as 
yet  undecided  whether  to  remain  true  to  the  best  that 
was  in  him  and  paint  pictures  that  no  one  might  buy  or 
follow  Richard's  advice  and  connect  himself  with  an  ad- 
vertising firm  and  accumulate  money  so  fast  that  his 
wealth  would  be  a  burden  to  him. 

Madame  Cabot  frowned  at  him  as  she  had  not 
frowned  at  the  giggling  Sallie.  There  was  a  possibility 
that  she  had  not  heard  Sallie. 

"You  are  like  your  uncle,"  she  told  Stanley,  as  soon 
as  she  could  find  a  period  in  Richard's  careful  explana- 
tion of  why  England  had  been  obliged  to  declare  war  on 
Germany.  Her  soft  low  voice  had  a  fretful  note  in  it 
that  informed  Stanley,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  them,  that 
she  did  not  admire  him  the  more  for  the  resemblance. 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Instinct  always  led  him  to  the  most  comfortable  chair 
in  the  room.  I  always  had  one  that  was  too  high  oar 
too  low,"  she  complained,  as  if  it  were  Stanley's  fault. 

"Only  a  fool  is  uncomfortable  when  he  can  be  com- 
fortable without  its  costing  him  anything,"  grumbled. 
Stanley  and  then  realized,  alas,  too  late,  what  his  words 
insinuated.  His  usually  pale  skin  colored  deeply  and. 
painfully,  a  lobster  red,  and  he  regarded  his  long  fingers 
with  shamed  eyes.  It  was  enough  to  make  a  man  blush 
to  tell  his  only  aunt  worth  millions  that  she  was  a  fool 
to  her  very  face. 

Madame  Cabot  may  not  have  heard  him — devoutly 
he  hoped  that  she  had  not — for  she  went  on  in  her  soft 
drawl  to  comment  on  their  departed  uncle.  They  lis- 
tened in  amazement;  for  never  had  she  criticized  Judge 
Cabot  before.  She  had  been  too  good  a  wife.  It  had 
been  her  boast.  They  did  not  realize  what  the  weight 
of  a  last  straw  can  do  although  they  had  heard  often 
enough  that  it  was  important. 

"Your  uncle  never  did  anything  he  didn't  wish  to  do. 
He  wouldn't  even  decide  what  should  be  done  with  his 
property,"  she  said  and  she  glanced  from  Richard 
around  the  circle  and  back  again  and  shook  her  head. 
"He  would  say  only  that  I  was  to  leave  it  to  the  one 
who  was  most  worthy  to  have  it.  As  if  that  was  any 
help  to  me.  If  his  son,  if  Joshua — Joe  we  always  called 
him — had  lived,  everything  would  go  to  him,  of  course. 

2  0 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


I  don't  care  if  his  father  did  quarrel  with  him.  The 
Judge  had  no  control  over  his  temper,  poor  man,"  she 
sighed.  "He  was  always  quarreling  with  someone  and 
he  so  seldom  made  up  his  quarrels.  Joe  took  him  at 
his  word  and  went  away.  Your  uncle  was  too  proud 
to  ask  him  to  come  back  although  I  know  he  wanted  him 
back.  He  never  heard  from  Joe  again  for  fourteen 
years  and  then  it  was  only  that  the  boy  had  died.  It 
crushed  your  uncle.  He  never  was  the  same  again. 
.But  a  man  can't  treat  his  only  son  unjustly  in  a  fit  of 
ungovernable  temper  and  expect  the  boy  to  forget  and 
forgive — not  in  this  day  when  it  is  the  children  who 
rule.  Your  uncle,"  for  some  reason  that  night  she 
.seemed  to  disclaim  any  connection  with  him,  "made  a 
new  will  every  few  months  and  then  died,  leaving  every- 
thing to  me.  Of  course  I  am  bound  by  his  wishes  but 
if  I  could  do  as  I  please — "  she  paused  and  her  glance 
fell  on  Richard. 

It  sent  a  cold  expectant  chill  down  that  aspiring 
banker's  spine.  He  wondered  what  it  might  mean. 
He  could  use  the  Cabot  millions  as  well  as  the  next 
man,  better  than  any  of  his  cousins  because  he  knew  all 
about  investments  and  dividends  and  interest.  There 
was  no  doubt  that  he  was  the  logical  heir. 

"I  feel  that  I  know  so  little  of  young  people — of  you 
young  people,"  Madame  Cabot  went  on  rather  wearily, 
-as  if  the  subject  was  not  of  any  real  interest  to  her. 

10 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"We  were  away  so  much  that  I  have  seen  nothing1  of 
you  since  you  were  children.  I  am  over  sixty,  I  can't 
expect  to  live  many  years,  and  I  wish  to  get  this  matter 
settled.  It  is  a  year  now  since  your  uncle  died  and  left 
this  burden  on  my  shoulders.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  fol- 
low his  wishes  as  far  as  I  understand  them.  I  have 
no  idea  which  of  you  would  make  the  best  use  of  the 
money  so  I  am  going  to  let  you  show  me.  Perhaps  it 
is  a  stupid  plan,  hackneyed,  to  put  people  to  a  test  and 
if  you  know  a  better  way  say  so."  She  waited  a  mo- 
ment but  none  of  them  said  so  and  she  went  on:  "Mr. 
Burroughs  will  send  each  of  you  a  check  for  five  thou- 
sand dollars  tomorrow.  You  are  to  spend  it  as  you 
please.  A  year  from  now  I  shall  expect  you  to  come 
and  tell  me  how  you  have  used  the  money.  Your  uncle 
used  to  say  that  anyone  who  could  take  care  of  a  little 
could  be  trusted  with  large  sums." 

There  was  a  breathless  silence.  Richard  straight- 
ened his  rather  narrow  shoulders.  He  knew  at  once 
what  he  would  do  with  five  thousand  dollars.  There  was 
an  investment  that  would  double  it  in  less  than  a  month. 
Then  with  ten  thousand  dollars —  If  his  aunt  approved 
of  increasing  his  capital,  and  of  course,  she  would,  the 
Cabot  fortune  was  as  good  as  his. 

Philip  flushed  and  made  another  mental  calculation. 
He  decided  that  the  sum  would  be  sufficient  for  one  of 
his  philanthropic  experiments  that  would  be  sure  to  in- 

11 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


terest  his  aunt.  All  women  were  interested  in  babies 
and  what  would  make  them  better.  If  five  thousand 
wasn't  enough  he  would  get  Sallie  to  lend  him  more. 
He  would  make  it  up  to  Sallie  later,  when  the  Cabot 
fortune  was  really  his,  for  surely  well  extended  philan- 
thropy was  the  one  thing  that  would  appeal  to  a  lonely 
rich  old  lady  like  his  aunt. 

Stanley  sat  up  as  if  jerked  by  a  spring.  He  wished 
that  all  Europe  was  not  at  war.  To  be  sure  a  fellow 
who  had  never  been  out  of  Waloo  could  learn  a  lot  in 
New  York,  but  Paris.  Ah,  Paris ! 

It  was  Rose  who  spoke  first  and  Rose's  eyes  which 
tad  been  rather  dull,  shone  now  like  stars  as  she  leaned 
toward  Madame  Cabot. 

"Are  we  to  do  exactly  as  we  please  with  the  money  ?" 
her  voice  trembled.  The  evening  was  no  longer  stupid 
for  her.  It  had  opened  a  gate  to  a  future  that  prom- 
ised to  be  as  smooth  as  satin  and  as  pink  as  an  Ameri- 
can Beauty  rose. 

"Exactly,"  Madame  Cabot  smiled  vaguely  and  cour- 
teously stifled  a  yawn.  "Spend  every  penny  as  your 
natural  inclination  tells  you  to.  That  is  the  way  to 
show  me  what  you  would  do  with  more  if  you  had  it." 

"I  don't  have  to  wait  a  year  to  tell  you !"  Stanley 
jumped  to  his  feet  and  stood  before  her,  his  face 
flashed,  his  eyes  bright,  also.  "I'll  take  the  first 
train " 

12 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Madame  Cabot  raised  her  delicate  hands  to  her  ears. 
"Don't  tell  me  now,"  she  commanded.  "I  don't  wish  to 
hear  what  you  are  going  to  do,  but  in  twelve  months  I 
wish  to  know  what  you  have  done.  And  now,  I  think 
I  shall  ask  you  to  say  good-night.  I  am  tired  and  one 
of  the  privileges  of  age  is  to  tell  people  when  you  are 
tired." 

"Age  !"  jeered  Sallie,  coming  out  of  the  shadow  where 
she  had  been  sitting  to  put  a  browned  paw  on  her  aunt's 
white  hand.  "I  should  like  to  hear  what  you  know  of 
age?" 

Madame  Cabot  looked  into  the  radiant  face  and 
sighed.  "I  am  over  sixty,  Sallie,"  She  spoke  as  if 
sixty  and  a  hundred  were  one  and  the  same. 

"Pouf!"  Sallie  waved  her  hand  airily.  "What  is 
sixty  today?  We  have  eliminated  age.  Everybody 
takes  a  dip  in  old  Ponce  de  Leon's  spring.  We  all  be- 
lieve with  the  old  Frenchman — was  it  a  Frenchman? — • 
that  people  are  as  old  as  they  feel.  You  know  I  have 
a  friend,  a  dear  old  soul  of  ninety-six,  and  she  told  me 
that  her  happiest  days  came  after  she  was  ninety." 

"Socrates !  I  should  have  thought  she  would  have 
been  discouraged,"  laughed  Stanley. 

"I  wonder  if  one  ever  is  discouraged  waiting — if  one 
doesn't  always  expect  to  find  happiness  just  around  the 
corner — no  matter  what  experience  has  taught  one?** 
asked  Philip  thoughtfully. 

13 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Sallie  turned  up  her  nose.  "Of  course.  What  would 
life  be  if  one  didn't?" 

"Waloo !"  Stanley  answered  promptly.  "Just  stupid 
Waloo.  My  word,  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  leave  the  old 
place  and  go  where  people  can  appreciate  the  difference 
between " 

"Never  mind  that,  Stan,"  Richard  put  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  "Aunt  Martha  asked  us  not  to  speak  of 
that  yet.  She  asked  us  to  say  good-night." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Aunt  Martha.  "But,  Philip,  before 
you  go  I  wish  that  you  would  make  me  out  a  list 
of  books  on  the  Old  Testament,  the  people  and  the 
times.  Notfctoo  deep,  please,"  she  cautioned  him  lan- 
guidly. 

Phil  stared  at  her.  So  did  the  others.  "The  Bible," 
began  Phil. 

His  aunt  interrupted  him.  "I  want  something  more 
detailed  than  the  Bible.  You  see  I  have  tried  always  to 
fit  myself  for  the  company  I  was  to  be  in.  Your  uncle 
liked  me  to.  When  he  entertained  the  Japanese  com- 
mission I  spent  weeks  reading  up  on  Japan,  and  when 
he  accepted  that  mission  to  Persia  I  took  a  course  with 
Professor  Mason.  And  now — I  can't  expect  to  live 
forever — I  fancy  it  won't  do  any  harm  for  me  to  begin 
to  try  to  make  myself  congenial  to  Daniel  and  Abraham 
and  the  rest,"  with  a  little  smile  that  held  more  pathos 
than  humor.  And  she  flushed  as  she  confessed  that  she 

14 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


shared  Lord  Chesterfield's  ambition  to  have  all  men  like 
him  and  all  women  love  him. 

Sallie  broke  into  a  low  chuckle  and  ran  across  to  put 
her  arms  around  her  aunt's  shoulders  and  hug  her. 

"Aunt  Martha,  I  adore  you  for  that!  But  don't 
think  about  Daniel  and  Noah  now.  You'll  have  lots 
and  lots  of  time  to  coach  up  for  them.  You  are  not 
old.  Why — why,  you're  young !  Didn't  I  tell  you  that 
age  has  been  eliminated?  It  isn't  a  question  of  years 
any  more  but  one  of  feelings  and  clothes.  What  you 
need  is  an  interest  in  live  things  instead  of  dead  ones, 
in  today  instead  of  fifty  years  ago.  There's  suf- 
frage »  f 

"Sallie!"  cried  Rose,  an  ardent  anti-suffragist. 

Madame  Cabot  patted  Sallie's  tanned  paw.  She  had 
never  been  hugged  as  Sallie  had  just  hugged  her,  at 
least  if  she  had  it  had  been  so  many  years  ago  that  she 
had  forgotten,  and  she  rather  liked  the  impulsive  display 
of  affection.  All  of  her  life  she  had,  as  it  were,  sat  in 
an  armchair  after  the  custom  of  the  princesses  of  France 
under  the  old  regime.  Other  people  had  tabourettes  or 
stood.  Her  marriage  to  Judge  Cabot  moved  her  arm- 
chair up  higher,  to  a  dais,  where  she  had  sat  in  even 
lonelier  state.  While  the  Judge  lived  there  had  been 
someone  human  in  touch  of  her  hand  but  after  he  had 
gone  she  was  there  alone,  separated  by  her  wealth  and 
the  reserve  of  years.  No  one  had  attempted  to  break 

15 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


It,  no  one  had  quite  dared.     But  she  smiled  into  Sallie's 
smile,  as  she  said  softly  : 

"For  sixty  years  I  have  thought  it  was  unwomanly 
for  women  to  vote,  Sallie,  and  I  rather  think  I  am  too 
old  to  change  my  opinions  now.  I  think  I  was  born 
old-fashioned,"  she  went  on  slowly,  still  patting  Sallie's 
fingers.  ''Perhaps  that  is  why  I  have  been  on  the  out- 
side of  things  always.  I  was  married  as  soon  as  I  put 
up  my  braids.  Your  uncle  was  my  father's  friend. 
He  had  been  a  widower  for  six  years  and  little  Joe  was 
eight.  He  was  such  a  dear  little  boy.  I  think  I  mar- 
ried your  uncle  as  much  to  play  with  Joe  as  to  be  a  wife. 
Dear,  dear!  He  would  be  a  man  over  fifty  if  he  had 
lived.  It  is  thirty-two  years  since  I  saw  him."  She 
was  silent  for  a  moment.  "Girls  didn't  think  in  my 
day  and  in  my  circle.  And  while  your  uncle  lived,  well, 
there  never  was  but  one  mind  in  the  Cabot  family.  He 
did  the  thinking  for  all  of  us.  He  even  chose  my 
gowns  and  my  hats,  my  friends,  my  likes  and  dislikes. 
I  wasn't  much  but  a  slate  on  which  he  wrote  what  he 
pleased.  I  suppose  I  hadn't  much  mentality  for  I  didn't 
care.  Some  women  have  lives  like  flower  gardens,  all 
color  and  perfume  and  brightness,  but  mine  has  been 
gray  and  scentless.  Ah,  well,"  she  recalled  herself  with 
an  effort,  "it  is  almost  over.  And  even  your  clever, 
capable  suffragettes,  Sallie,  cannot  give  an  old  lady  back 
her  life  and  let  her  live  it  differently — if  she  would." 

16 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"You  are  not  an  old  lady,"  insisted  Sallie  and  she 
would  have  said  more,  much  more,  if  Rose  had  not  in- 
terrupted her. 

"You  mustn't  bother  Aunt  Martha  any  more  tonight, 
Sallie.  She  said  she  was  tired!"  Rose  was  impatient 
to  get  away.  "Good-night,  dear  Aunt  Martha,"  she 
bent  to  kiss  her.  "I  am  dying  to  tell  you  what  I  am  go- 
ing to  do  with  that  generous  gift  but  you  will  know 
before  the  week  is  up.  You  simply  will  have  to  know !" 
Her  lips  trembled  and  a  lovely  color  ran  up  to  her  dark 
hair. 

"Good-night,  my  dear.  I  hope  whatever  it  is  it  will 
make  you  happy.  Money,  even  so  small  a  sum  as  five 
thousand  dollars,  can  bring  a  lot  of  misery  and  unhap- 
piness  with  it.  Good-night,  Sallie,"  she  patted  the 
brown  paw  again  before  she  released  it. 

Sallie  stopped  at  the  door.  "Remember !"  she  flashed 
back,  "you  are  not  old.  It  is  most  important  that  you 
should  think  you  are  not." 

Madame  Cabot  nodded.  What  was  the  use  of  an- 
swering the  child.  But  she  knew.  And  she  sighed. 
She  was  thinking  of  her  own  youth,  when  she  was  nine- 
teen as  Sallie  was.  She  had  been  a  wife  two  years  then. 
She  had  never  had  a  chance  to  be  herself,  she  thought, 
as  she  leaned  wearily  back  in  the  high  Gothic  chair. 
She  had  always  had  to  cut  her  hopes  and  wishes  to  suit 
those  with  whom  she  lived.  First  there  had  been  her 

17 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


father  and  then  her  husband.  Never  in  all  of  her  sixty- 
three  years  could  she  remember  a  time  when  she  could 
do  as  she  wished.  Even  now,  that  she  was  alone,  her 
husband  still  controlled  her.  No  wonder  she  felt  re- 
sentful toward  him.  The  Cabot  fortune,  he  had  said — 
to  be  sure  it  was  his  or  had  been  his — must  go  to  the 
most  worthy  of  his  heirs.  The  restriction  had  robbed 
her  of  any  pleasure  she  might  have  taken  in  making  her 
will.  She  would  like  to  leave  it  to  the  one  who  would 
enjoy  it  the  most.  Enjoyment,  she  had  decided  after 
sixty-three  years  of  observation,  was  a  very  important 
part  of  life.  She  agreed  with  Charlotte  Bronte  that 
happiness  is  not  a  potato  to  be  cultivated.  You  had  it 
or  you  did  not  have  it  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it. 
The  most  worthy.  She  sniffed.  Her  life  had  been 
bounded  by  worthy  people.  She  was  tired  of  them. 
And  yet  her  life  would  continue  to  be  bounded  by  them 
until  she  died.  There  was  no  escape  for  a  woman  pos- 
sessed of  sixty-three  years  and  several  millions  of  dol- 
lars. No  wonder  she  sighed  and  sniffed  as  she  sat  there 
alone  with  the  eyes  of  Rosa  Bonheur's  stag  watching  her 
curiously. 


CHAPTER  H 

I    BRIBED  your  man,"  exclaimed  Sallie.     She  spoke 
rather  diffidently.     She  was  not  at  all  sure  how 
Madame  Cabot  would  regard  bribery  and  bribe 
givers.     "He  told  me  that  you  didn't  wish  to  see  any- 
one this   afternoon   but — well,  I  bribed  him  just  the 
same !" 

"Bribed  Judkins !"  Madame  Cabot  opened  her  sleepy 
eyes  and  stared  at  Sallie  as  she  stood  on  the  threshold 
of  her  own  particular  room.  She  tried  her  very  best  to 
be  angry,  surely  one  had  a  right  to  be  angry  at  having 
one's  privacy  disturbed,  but  it  was  impossible  to  be 
angry  at  a  dimpled  laughing  mouth,  two  pleading  blue 
eyes  and  a  slim  figure  that  some  way  gave  you  an  im- 
pression of  rose  color  although  it  was  clothed  in  a 
blouse  of  white  crepe  de  chine  and  a  trottoir  skirt  of 
green  corduroy  that  cleared  the  silk-clad  ankles  and 
shiny  leather  pumps.  Sometimes  Sallie's  eyes  were  blue 
and  sometimes  they  were  green  and  she  usually  dressed 
to  match  the  green  times. 

19 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Blue  eyes  and  a  kind  heart  are  the  property  of  the 
great  majority,"  she  would  solemnly  explain. 

But  if  her  eyes  changed  color  her  hair  was  always 
yellow,  as  yellow  as  the  sleek  back  of  a  young  canary. 
A  hat  of  black  velour,  untrimmed  and  turned  up  here 
today  to  be  cocked  somewhere  else  tomorrow,  topped 
her  yellow  head  and  from  beneath  the  rather  wide  brim 
two  blue-green  eyes  regarded  Madame  Cabot  beseech- 
ingly. 

Madame  Cabot's  aura  was  anything  but  rose  color 
that  afternoon.  It  was  so  very  far  from  it,  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  color  card,  that  she  felt  a  strange 
and  unaccountable  jealousy  spring  up  in  her  heart. 
She  envied  Sallie  her  youth,  her  dimples,  her  future, 
her  uncriticized  right  to  wear  trottoir  skirts  of  green 
corduroy.  That  was  why  she  stared  at  her  coldly  and 
repeated  with  awful  severity: 

"Bribed  Judkins !"  She  could  not  imagine  how  any- 
one would  dare  bribe  Judkins.  Judkins  awed  even  her. 

"Yes,"  nodded  Sallie,  "with  a  big  round  silver  dollar. 
I  told  him  I  would  tell  you  all  about  it.  Your  maid — 
you  have  a  new  one,  haven't  you? — wanted  to  stop  me, 
too,  but  I  told  her  to  go  to " 

"Sallie !"  exclaimed  her  scandalized  great-aunt. 

"To  her  room,"  Sallie  went  on  serenely.  "And  she 
went.  Judkins  didn't  want  to  be  bribed,"  she  confessed. 
"He  is  a  good  man,"  she  went  on  reflectively,  "and  he 

20 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


adores  you."  She  dared  to  smile  into  the  frowning 
blue  eyes  across  the  room. 

"And  yet  he  let  you  bribe  him,"  murmured  Madame 
Cabot  coldly.  She  was  rather  at  a  loss  what  to  think 
or  say. 

"That  was  because  he  was  sorry  for  me.  He  knew 
how  lonesome  I  am."  Her  lip  quivered. 

"Lonesome !"  repeated  Madame  Cabot.  She  seemed 
all  exclamation  points  in  her  bewilderment.  But  how 
could  a  gay  young  girl  like  Sallie  Waters  be  lonesome? 

"You  have  had  your  room  done  over,  haven't  you?" 
questioned  Sallie,  ignoring  the  exclamation  and  swing- 
ing easily  to  a  subject  that  is  always  safe  and  pleasant 
to  discuss  with  a  woman.  She  looked  about  her  and 
nodded  approvingly.  "I  like  it!" 

Madame  Cabot  blushed.  She  felt  confused  and  self- 
conscious,  two  most  unusual  sensations  with  her.  "Do 
you?"  There  was  a  trace  of  a  thaw  in  her  chill  voice. 
"So  do  I,"  she  admitted.  "I  couldn't  bear  all  that 
gray  and  violet.  You  know,"  she  went  on,  more  confi- 
dentially, someway  most  people  were  confidential  with 
Sallie.  I  fancy  it  was  her  eyes;  no,  perhaps,  it  was 
her  heart.  "I  have  always  wanted  a  pink  room."  She 
looked  about  the  apartment  that  was  as  pink  as  a  room 
could  be  when  it  had  rosy  hangings,  rosy  covered  chairs 
and  couches,  rosy  rugs  on  the  polished  floor  and  smiled 
shyly,  slyly,  as  if  she  were  a  little  girl  again  and  had 

21 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


been  caught  sticky-fingered  in  the  forbidden  jam  closet. 
"But  I  had  to  wait  until  I  was  sixty-three  to  have  it. 
When  I  was  a  girl  my  mother  kept  my  room  in  blue. 
All  girls  who  had  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair  had  blue 
rooms  when  I  was  young.  Then  when  I  was  married 
your  uncle  had  a  blue  room  waiting  for  me.  It  was 
always  blue  with  the  exception  of  one  year  when  he  had 
it  in  buff  because  he  read  somewhere  that  Josephine  had 
a  buff  boudoir.  So  of  course  I  had  to  have  one  but  it 
didn't  suit  me.  Thirteen  years  ago  he  asked  me  one  day 
how  old  I  was  and  when  I  told  him  he  stared.  'God 
bless  my  soul !'  he  said,  'Fifty !  And  your  room  as  blue 
as  a  school  girl's!'  He  sent  for  a  decorator  that  very 
day  and  had  it  done  in  gray  and  violet.  Violet,  a  Bona- 
parte color,  and  there  were  Napoleonic  bees  over  every- 
thing!" she  finished  scornfully. 

Sallie  laughed  sympathetically.  "How  you  must 
hate  Napoleon." 

"If  you  only  knew,"  sighed  her  aunt,  pushing  a  pil- 
low behind  her,  a  pillow  covered  with  gay  pink  chintz 
instead  of  golden  bees.  She  had  never  voiced  her  feel- 
ing toward  Napoleon  and  his  family  but  for  some  reason 
today  she  wished  to.  "Not  only  Bonaparte  but  the 
whole  Bonaparte  connection.  When  I  dared  to  hint  to 
your  uncle  that  his  hero  wasn't  as  perfect  as  he 
imagined  him  and  spoke  of  his  despicable  treatment  of 
Josephine  your  uncle  would  look  at  me  in  amazement 

22 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


and  tell  me  how  deceitful  Josephine  was.  'No  man,'  he 
would  say,  in  his  decided  way,  'owes  anything  to  the 
woman  who  deceives  him.'  And  he  would  tell  me  stories 
of  Josephine's  deceit  until  I  wanted  to  scream.  I 
couldn't  count  the  number  of  times  I  have  had  to  listen 
to  the  one  about  her  embroidery.  She  couldn't  be 
honest  over  such  a  simple  thing  as  a  piece  of  needle- 
work, your  uncle  used  to  say.  You  know  the  story  ?  I 
don't  see  how  you  missed  hearing  it.  Napoleon,  you 
know,  liked  women  to  be  domestic — or  said  he  did — and 
Josephine,  poor  soul,  was  not  domestic.  She  was  the — 
the  other  type  of  woman.  She  loathed  sewing  but  when 
Napoleon  insisted  that  a  woman  never  looked  more 
womanly  than  when  she  had  a  needle  in  her  fingers  Jo- 
sephine held  a  needle.  Every  day  when  Napoleon  was 
with  her  he  found  her  working  on  an  embroidered  fire 
screen.  He  never  knew  that  the  embroidery  was  really 
done  by  the  pupils  of  Saint  Cyr.  Josephine  sent  the 
screen  to  them  each  day  after  Napoleon  left  her  and 
they  ripped  out  her  crooked  stitches  and  replaced  them 
with  their  own  fine  work.  Napoleon  complimented  Jo- 
sephine on  her  skill  with  the  needle  and  you  may  well 
believe  that  she  never  told  him  that  the  pupils  of  Saint 
Cyr  deserved  the  praise." 

"Good  old  Josephine!"  chuckled  Sallie.  "I  rather 
think,  Aunt  Martha,  that  she  was  justified." 

"Justified!"   exclaimed  Aunt  Martha,   who   had   no 

23 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


doubt  whatever  on  the  subject  but  who  never  would 
have  had  the  courage  to  repeat  such  an  incident. 
"Justified!  I  rather  think,  Sallie,  that  the  wives  of 
great  men  are  usually  justified."  She  spoke  feelingly, 
as  if  she  knew.  Perhaps  she  did.  Judge  Joshua  Alden 
Cabot  had  been  a  great  man. 

"I  suppose  that  was  why  Uncle  Joshua  sent  me  to  a 
French  school,"  Sallie  said  slowly.  "He  admired  the 
French  so  much.  You  know,  Aunt  Martha,  I  adored 
the  convent.  I  was  the  happiest  kid  in  the  world  after 
I  got  over  my  feeling  of  strangeness  and  learned  a 
French  word.  But  now!  You  know,  I'm  in  another 
world  again  and  I'm  lonesome.  There  isn't  another  girl 
in  all  Waloo  who  ever  went  to  a  French  convent.  The 
Waloo  girls  all  go  to  college  and  when  they  are 
through  they  want  votes  and  better  babies  and  indi- 
vidual freedom.  I  can't  understand  them,"  despair- 
ingly, "and  they  can't  understand  me.  I  want  romance, 
as  you  said  last  night,  color  and  fragrance  in  my  life 
and  they  don't  seem  to  ask  for  anything  but  votes!" 
explosively :  "Votes !  I  don't  want  to  be  a  business 
woman  nor  a  campaign  lecturer  nor  a  trained  nurse 
nor  a  social  worker  so  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any 
place  for  me  in  Waloo.  I  want — I  want,"  she  frowned 
darkly,  "I  don't  really  know  as  I  know  what  I  do 
want,"  truthfully,  "but  I  am  positive  it  isn't  to  sit  in  a 
dingy  office — but  are  there  any  dingy  offices  any  more? 

24 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


I  don't  believe  the  modern  business  girl  would  stand 
for  them — beside  a  man  who  frowns  at  me  until  I  save 
him  from  bankruptcy  and  marry  him.  Neither  do  I 
want  to  fight  a  corrupt  politician  until  I  have  beaten 
him  with  a  woman's  club  and  he  admits  that  I  am  right 
and  that  he  needs  my  matrimonial  aid  to  make  him  a 
power  instead  of  a  menace."  The  words  ran  into  each 
other  in  a  scornful  stream.  "Of  course,  Aunt  Martha, 
I  want  the  world  to  be  better  because  I  have  lived  in  it, 
but  I  hate  all  this  publicity  for  girls  and  I  hate  so  much 
talk  of  feministic  freedom.  I  am  tired  of  hearing  of 
the  obligations  girls  owe  themselves.  I  should  like  to 
hear  something  of  what  they  owe  to  other  people.  That 
is  what  we  were  taught  at  Tours.  It  is  what  all  French 
girls  are  taught.  I  wish  you  could  see  Madame  de 
Lerac.  And  Madeline  will  be  just  as  capable  and  help- 
ful and  fascinating  as  her  mother.  Independence,"  con- 
temptuously. "I  learned  at  the  convent  what  all  the 
big  colleges  don't  seem  to  teach,  that  no  one  can  be 
entirely  independent  and  free  in  a  big  world  full  of  all 
sorts  of  people.  Why,  lives  are  bound  to  touch  and 
intertwine!  That's  what  makes  me  so  awfully  tired  of 
the  Waloo  girls.  Independent?  Huh!  I  wish  I  had  a 
widower  father  with  sixteen  small  children  to  take  care 
of  instead  of  a  grandfather  and  grandmother,  who 
don't  need  me  any  more  than  they  need  a  rabbit.  I'd 
show  the  girls.  That  is  the  kind  of  work  I  like.  My 

3  25 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


convent  training,  perhaps.  You  think  you  were  an  odd 
one  in  your  generation,  Aunt  Martha,  and  I  know  I  am 
the  odd  one  in  mine.  I  am  so  ab-so-lute-ly  old- 
fashioned,"  she  confessed  shamefacedly,  "that  when  I 
meet  a  man  I  think  of  a  lover  instead  of  a  comrade.  If 
that  doesn't  stamp  me  as  an  archaic  remnant,  Madame 
Cabot!  As  you  say  'it's  lonesome,  darn  lonesome,  to  be 
a  remnant.' ' 

"My  dear,  I  never  said — "  exclaimed  shocked  Aunt 
Martha.  Say  darn?  She  wouldn't  know  how.  She 
had  never  even  thought  such  a  primitive  word. 

"You  meant  to,"  her  niece  went  on,  unabashed.  She 
had  not  finished  yet.  It  was  not  often  that  she  had  such 
a  listener.  Usually  she  was  interrupted  and  laughed  at. 
It  was  a  relief  to  put  it  all  in  words.  She  picked  up  a 
pink-covered  footstool  and  carried  it  to  her  aunt's  side 
where  she  settled  herself  more  comfortably.  "I  ex- 
pected to  be  homesick  when  I  came  home  in  June.  But 
great  Sir  Walter  and  William  Makepeace,  too!  I 
thought  that  the  homesickness  would  wear  off  in  time. 
I  hadn't  seen  the  girls  for  three  years  but  it  seemed 
three  centuries.  They  have  gone  on  into  two  thousand 
and  I  am  still  away  back  in  the  Victorian  era.  They 
sneer  at  my  ideas  and  I  scorn  theirs  until  my  perfectly 
good  disposition  is  in  great  danger  of  being  frayed  at 
the  edges.  When  I  think  how  little  they  do  but  talk 
and  then — "  she  twisted  around  until  she  looked  up  into 

26 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


her  aunt's  face.  "Do  you  know  that  Madame  de  Lerac 
has  turned  her  beautiful  chateau  into  a  Red  Cross 
hospital?  Clothilde  de  Sarnesis  has  been  married  and 
widowed  since  she  left  the  convent  in  the  spring.  Her 
husband  was  shot  in  Belgium.  And  Marie,  dear  little 
Marie  Montreul,  was  killed  by  a  bomb  while  she  was 
visiting  the  wounded  near  Namur."  Her  lips  trembled. 
"When  we  said  good-by  in  June  we  never  thought  what 
horrible  things  were  to  happen  so  soon.  I  wish  I  had 
stayed  in  France.  I  could  have  helped  there  but  here 
I  am  as  useless  as  a  canceled  stamp.  I  don't  care  what 
you  say,  Aunt  Martha,"  she  sat  up  and  winked  away 
her  tears,  "I  do  think  that  four  years  at  college  does 
spoil  a  girl  for  even  one  year  in  Waloo.  I  suppose 
Jane  Thomas  and  Hilda  Mercer  would  tell  you  that 
three  years  at  a  French  convent  absolutely  ruins  a  girl 
for  Waloo  or  any  place  in  this  progressive  age,  but  I 
don't  feel  ruined.  I  just  feel  lonesome.  Grand-daddy 
Waters  and  Grannie  Waters  are  so  wrapped  up  in  each 
other  and  their  own  affairs  that  they  haven't  any  time 
for  me.  I  need  a  friend  awf ul-ly,  a  pal,  and  so  I  bribed 
Judkins  to  let  me  see  you  this  afternoon  so  that  I 
could  ask  you  to  be  my  friend,  Aunt  Martha.  It  seems 
as  if  two  odd  ones,"  her  voice  quivered,  "should  be 
friends." 

Aunt  Martha  had  listened  with  a  curious  feeling  of 
understanding.     She  knew,  as  well  as  a  woman  could 

27 


Up  tlie  Road  with  Sallie 


know,  what  it  was  to  be  lonesome ;  had  known  ever  since 
Joshua  the  second  had  quarreled  with  his  father  and 
gone  away,  out  of  her  life.  She  had  tried,  no  one  would 
know  how  she  had  tried,  to  keep  him  in  it,  to  serve 
father  and  son,  but  it  had  been  impossible  and  Joshua 
the  second  had  gone.  Now  Joshua  the  first  had  gone 
also  and  there  was  no  one.  She  put  out  her  hand  and 
took  Sallie's  fingers. 

"Indeed,  I  hope  we  will  be  friends,  dear  little  niece," 
she  said  and  there  was  more  warmth  in  her  voice  than 
there  had  been  for  years.  There  was  more  warmth  in 
her  heart,  also.  Like  Sallie  she  wanted  to  feel  that  she 
was  necessary  to  someone.  There  had  been  so  many 
years  when  she  really  had  been  necessary  to  no  one. 
She  was  oddly  flattered  and  uplifted  to  have  Sallie 
come  and  ask  her  to  be  her  friend.  It  made  a  little 
glow  of  youth  creep  over  her. 

Sallie  jumped  up  and  kicked  aside  the  pink 
stool.  Her  face  beamed.  "You  duck!"  No  one  else 
would  have  dared  to  call  Madame  Joshua  Cabot  a 
duck.  Even  the  Judge  had  never  called  her  anything 
less  dignified  than  "My  dear."  "You  duck!"  Sallie 
had  said.  "Then  if  we  are  friends  you'll  go  out  with 
me  this  afternoon  ?  You  are  the  first  girl  I  have  asked 
for  a  spin  in  my  own  car." 

"Your  own  car?"  Madame  Cabot  was  surprised. 
"Do  you  mean  you  drive  a  car  yourself?"  She  did  not 

28 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


say  it  but  Sallie  knew  she  did  not  approve  of  women  and 
girls  driving  motor  cars. 

"I  do.  I  am  modern  enough  for  that,"  confessed 
Sallie,  ignoring  the  meaning  and  hearing  only  the 
words.  "I  have  been  crazy  for  a  car  of  my  own  ever 
since  I  came  home,  a  little  roadster,  you  know,  not  a 
big  touring  car.  Grand-daddy  laughed  at  me  and  said 
I  would  run  over  more  people  than  I  would  ever  run  by, 
that  I  had  much  better  be  satisfied  with  the  rides  he 
would  give  me,  but  a  drive  in  Grand-daddy  Waters'  old 
chariot  isn't  the  same  as  a  spin  in  my  own  machine.  I 
felt  I  had  to  have  one  or  die.  I  knew  the  car  I  wanted. 
I  fell  in  love  with  it  the  minute  I  saw  it  in  the  show 
window,  but  mercy!  mercy!  it  cost  a  lot  and  I  didn't 
have  money  enough  to  buy  as  much  as  a  wheel.  You 
know  my  income  is  only  big  enough  to  clothe  me.  It 
won't  motor  me,  too.  And  Grand-daddy  Waters 
couldn't  help  me  out,  he  wouldn't  have  if  he  could. 
He's  something  like  you.  I  was  desperate  but  I  decided 
that  I  would  never  get  anywhere  unless  I  made  a  begin- 
ning and  so  I  bought  a  gallon  of  gasoline.  I  did !"  she 
went  into  a  gale  of  laughter  that  made  Aunt  Martha 
laugh,  also.  "I  was  just  such  a  silly.  I  hadn't  money 
to  buy  anything  else  and  anyway  gasoline  is  as  neces- 
sary as  a  car.  You  can't  go  without  it  no  matter  how 
expensive  a  machine  you  have.  I  kept  that  gallon  of 
gasoline  under  the  bed  in  my  room.  It's  a  wonder  I 

£9 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


didn't  blow  up.  But  I  loved  to  think  it  was  there.  It 
was  a  start  to  more,  you  know.  Then  my  birthday 
came  with  your  heavenly  check  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  I  didn't  wait  a  second  after  the  postman 
left  it.  I  took  it  right  down  to  the  agent  and  told  him 
just  how  it  was,  that  I  was  crazy  for  the  car,  that  I 
only  had  so  much  money  but  wouldn't  he  please  sell  me 
the  roadster  for  that  much  down  and  a  little  every 
month.  I  knew  he  wouldn't  regret  it.  And  wouldn't  he 
pay  me  a  commission  if  I  was  lucky  enough  to  sell  a 
car  for  him  and  couldn't  that  apply  on  my  car?  I  was 
positive  that  the  other  girls  would  want  cars  as  soon  as 
they  saw  me  in  one.  If  they  do  sneer  at  my  ideas  they 
admire  my  friends.  It  makes  me  positively  ill  to  hear 
them  ask  about  the  girls  with  titles  who  were  at  the  con- 
vent. We  had  a  princess  there  one  year.  She  married 
a  prince  and  he  is  with  the  German  army  this  minute — 
if  he  hasn't  been  shot.  The  agent  was  a  ducky  human 
being — oh,  there  are  so  many  lovely  people  in  the 
world ! — and  he  believed  me.  He  let  me  have  the  car  on 
my  own  terms.  Richard  wouldn't  believe  it  and  made 
me  furious  by  going  to  see  the  agent  himself.  I  hated 
him  that  day.  But  I  have  sold  three  cars.  I  knew  I 
would.  Old  Mr.  Bingham  bought  one  for  Mrs.  Judith. 
He  is  a  perfect  old  dear  and  wants  her  to  have  every- 
thing any  girl  has  or  ever  thought  of  having."  She 
brought  her  torrent  of  words  to  a  sudden  finish  and 

30 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


went  to  her  aunt  and  held  out  her  hand  persuasively: 
"Won't  you  come  for  a  drive  with  me  in  my  car  that 
grew  out  of  a  gallon  of  gasoline !"  Her  voice  was  honey. 

Madame  Cabot  hesitated.  She  had  never  been  in  a 
car  that  did  not  have  a  liveried  chauffeur  and  footman 
on  the  front  of  it  and  a  cluster  of  seasonable  flowers 
inside  of  it.  She  had  never  been  out  in  a  machine  un- 
accompanied by  servants.  It  might  be  rather  amusing 
to  go  with  Sallie  in  a  car  that  had  grown  from  a  gallon 
of  gasoline  instead  of  from  the  stroke  of  a  pen  in  a 
check  book.  Sallie  amused  her  that  afternoon.  It  was 
a  long  time  since  she  had  been  amused  and  the  sensation 
was  enjoyable. 

Sallie  bent  forward  and  put  her  pink  cheek  against 
her  aunt's  pale  face  and  murmured:  "Please  come  with 
your  pal." 

Her  pal  rose  suddenly.  She  supposed  all  Waloo 
would  be  shocked  but  she  did  not  care.  It  had  taken 
her  sixty-three  years  to  learn  that  she  did  not  care 
about  shocking  a  world  but  she  discovered  she  had 
learned  it  now. 

"Just  a  minute,"  she  was  breathless  for  it  was  a  mo- 
mentous decision  that  she  had  made.  "I  must  get 
ready." 

"Your  very  plainest  things,"  cautioned  Sallie.  "A 
runabout  is  not  a  limousine,  you  know.  But  I  can 
drive,"  she  boasted. 

31 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Aunt  Martha  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it  as 
she  went  to  put  on  her  plainest  things.  She  felt  a 
great  confidence  in  Sallie  which  she  could  not  have  ex- 
plained. She  did  not  really  wish  to  explain  it,  she  was 
so  satisfied  with  feeling  it.  She  was  glad  that  Sallie 
had  not  stayed  in  France.  She  was  glad  that  Sallie 
had  chosen  her  for  a  friend. 

Left  alone  Sallie  sauntered  about  the  pink  and  ivory 
room  whistling  cheerily  as  she  touched  the  photographs 
on  the  table  and  smoothed  the  fat  pink  cushions. 

"Violet  and  gray,"  she  thought.  "Poor  old  soul. 
How  glad  she  must  be  when  she  thinks  of  Waterloo. 
Uncle  Joshua  must  have  been  insufferable  with  his  Bon- 
apartes."  She  looked  up  at  the  old  print  of  the  austere 
Duchesse  d'Angouleme  that  had  replaced  the  giddy 
Pauline.  "You  were  glad  of  Waterloo,  too,  weren't 
you,  poor  thing?" 

She  snapped  her  fingers  at  the  gold  fish  in  the  crystal 
bowl  in  the  wide  sunny  recess.  "The  perfect  pets," 
Judge  Cabot  had  called  them.  "Dogs  and  cats  are 
underfoot,  birds  chatter  or  sing  but  gold  fish  stay  where 
they  are  placed  and  they  never  answer  back." 

Sallie  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys  of  the  miniature 
baby  grand  piano,  looked  over  the  books  in  the  low 
case  and  giggled  as  she  noted  that  there  was  not  one  on 
political  science,  municipal  housing  or  feminism.  There 
was  nothing  by  Maeterlinck,  Suderman,  Strindberg  nor 

32 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


even  Bernard  Shaw.  She  had  heard  considerable  of 
those  gentlemen  since  she  had  come  back  to  Waloo  and 
knew  their  works  should  be  on  the  book  shelf  of  every 
woman  who  made  any  pretensions  to  culture. 

"An  odd  one  for  sure,"  she  murmured. 

Madame  Cabot  did  not  keep  her  waiting  long  and  when 
she  returned  in  her  little  black  hat,  discreetly  veiled, 
her  long  black  coat,  Sallie  went  to  her  and  pinched  her 
hat,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other. 

"You  can  wear  bonnets  when  you  are  a  hundred," 
she  explained  and  swung  her  around  to  see  the  result  of 
the  pinching  in  the  big  French  mirror. 

"Sallie!"  cried  Madame  Cabot  indignantly  but  as  she 
looked  at  what  the  French  mirror  told  her  was  really 
herself  the  indignation  gave  way  to  a  smile  of  grudging 
approval. 

"I  would  make  a  better  milliner  than  reformer,"  Sallie 
whispered  confidentially  as  she  took  her  arm.  "Come 
on." 

Judkins  opened  the  door  for  them  and  Madame 
Cabot  never  so  much  as  by  a  glance  let  him  understand 
that  she  knew  that  there  had  been  a  case  of  flagrant 
bribery  in  her  household. 

Sallie's  roadster  stood  beside  the  curb.  It  was  a 
smart  little  car,  all  shining  and  clean,  and  looked  as  if 
it  was  as  proud  to  belong  to  Sallie  as  Sallie  was  to 
belong  to  it. 

33 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Madame  Cabot,  let  me  introduce  Blue  Bird,"  she 
said  very  formally.  "You  must  both  be  friends,"  she 
told  Blue  Bird  and  Madame  Cabot  with  an  enchanting 
smile,  "for  things  which  are  equal  to  the  same  things 
are  equal  to  each  other  and  you  are  both  such  friends 
of  mine." 

Madame  Cabot  had  never  been  introduced  to  a  motor 
car  before  and  she  scarcely  knew  what  to  say.  The 
motor  on  the  contrary  rumbled  pleasantly  as  Sallie 
touched  something  and  called  her  aunt's  attention  to 
Blue  Bird's  lines,  dark  overcoat  and  glistening  bonnet 
quite  as  if  the  car  were  a  human  being. 

Judkins  peered  through  a  crack  in  the  door  and  his 
hair  stood  on  end  and  his  eyes  and  mouth,  usually  so 
discreetly  unobtrusive  as  the  eyes  and  mouth  of  a  well- 
trained  butler  should  be,  became  big  round  O's  of 
surprise. 

"She's  never  goin*  out  in  that !"  he  muttered. 

Madame  Cabot  showed  him  how  little  he  knew  of  her 
although  he  had  served  her  for  twenty  years  for  she 
stepped  into  the  car  that  gave  a  purr  of  pleasure  as 
Sallie  did  something  to  it  before  it  started  dashingly  up 
the  street. 

There  was  not  much  conversation  as  they  drove  out 
Prairie  avenue.  Sallie  never  cared  to  talk  when  she 
had  her  hands  on  the  wheel  and  her  aunt  was  too  oc- 
cupied in  wondering  if  it  were  really  she  in  this  rakish 

34 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


little  machine  to  question  anyone  but  herself.  She  ad- 
mired Sallie's  control  of  her  car.  Sallie  drove  as  skill- 
fully as  her  own  high-priced  chauffeur  and  how  com- 
fortable the  little  machine  was.  She  had  not  had  such 
a  sensation  of  pleasure  for  years  and  years ;  indeed, 
she  could  scarcely  remember  when  she  had  enjoyed  her- 
self more. 

They  went  out  the  boulevard,  the  conventional  drive 
that  every  active  motor  car  in  Waloo  takes  at  least  once 
a  day,  and  when  they  reached  a  fork  in  the  road  at  the 
end  of  the  river  park  Sallie  slowed  her  car. 

"Which  way  shall  we  go,  Aunt  Martha?" 

Aunt  Martha  did  not  care  and  frankly  said  so. 

"Oh,  but  you  must  choose,"  frowned  Sallie.  "Here," 
she  thrust  her  hands  into  one  of  the  patch  pockets  on 
her  skirt  and  drew  out  a  coin.  "Let  this  help  you. 
You  can't  go  wrong  if  you  are  guided  by  my  lucky 
piece.  That  coin,"  she  said  impressively,  "went 
through  the  Franco-Prussian  War.  It  was  in  the 
pocket  of  Nanette  de  Choisel's  uncle,  the  Duke  de 
Larras,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  in  his  pocket  he  would 
have  been  in  his  grave  for — seventy  from  1914 — that 
many  years.  See  that  dent?"  and  she  pointed  to  it. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  Aunt  Martha  was  as  cu- 
rious as  she  was  interested. 

"Uncle  Raoul  gave  it  to  me.  He  adored  me.  I 
rather  think  I  could  have  been  the  Duchess  de  Larras  if 

35 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


I  had  cared  for  it.  Uncle  Raoul  was  a  darling  duck  for 
an  uncle  but — when  I  marry  I  want  romance  as  well  as 
rank.  Aunt  Martha,  1  am  just  like  you,"  solemnly,  "I 
am  crazy  for  romance!  Go  on,  toss  your  coin.  We 
must  be  on  our  way." 

It  is  doubtful  if  Aunt  Martha  had  ever  tossed  a  coin 
in  her  life  but  instigated  and  abetted  now  by  her  im- 
patient niece,  who  might  have  been  a  duchess  if  she  had 
not  had  such  an  appetite  for  Romance,  she  threw  it 
into  the  air  as  Sallie  murmured  mysteriously: 

"Tails  to  the  right ;  heads  to  the  left." 

The  coin  fell  in  the  road  and  Sallie  squealed. 

"Wait  a  minute!  I'll  get  it."  She  jumped  from  the 
car  but  before  she  could  reach  the  rolling  five-franc 
piece  a  man,  an  idle  pedestrian,  was  before  her.  "Don't 
touch  it !  Leave  it  be,  please,"  cried  Sallie. 

She  was  too  late.  The  idle  pedestrian  had  already 
touched  it  and  was  rubbing  it  against  the  sleeve  of  his 
coat. 

"Allow  me,"  he  murmured  gallantly  and  offered  it  to 
her. 

As  she  took  it  she  looked  at  him  beseechingly.  "You 
didn't — did  you  happen  to  notice  whether  tails  or  heads 
were  up?" 

"Sallie!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Martha  from  the  car. 

"I  did,"  smiled  the  idle  pedestrian,  "it  was  tails.  I 
noticed  because  I  saw  it  was  not  an  American  coin." 

56 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"No,  it  is  French,"  Sallie  told  him  in  a  friendly 
fashion.  "A  five-franc  piece  that  saved  a  man's  life  at 
the  battle  of  Gravelotte." 

"Sallie!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Martha  again.  Surely 
Sallie  was  not  going  to  tell  the  idle  pedestria,  a  per- 
fect stranger,  all  about  Uncle  Raoul. 

Sallie  smiled  across  the  road  at  her.  "Yes,  Aunt 
Martha,  coming.  Thank  you  so  much,"  to  the  idle 
pedestrian,  "especially  for  seeing  whether  it  was  heads 
or  tails.  A  second  throw  isn't  the  same  as  the  first,  is 
it?" 

"It  is  not!"  agreed  the  idle  pedestrian  and  he  would 
have  helped  her  back  into  the  car  if  she  had  not  been 
too  quick  for  him. 

"Good-by,"  she  said  as  she  started  her  engine  and 
she  nodded  at  him. 

He  stood  staring  at  her  with  an  admiration  that  was 
plain  to  even  Aunt  Martha's  short-sighted  eyes. 

"Surely  the  nuns  didn't  teach  you  to  make  friends 
with  every  man  you  see,  Sallie  Waters  ?"  she  questioned 
somewhat  distantly. 

"Eh?  The  left — that  means  the  river  road,  doesn't 
it,  Aunt  Martha.  I  am  glad.  The  river  road  is  exactly 
the  one  I  should  have  chosen."  She  turned  the  car 
into  it  and  drove  so  fast  that  Aunt  Martha  had  no 
breath  left  for  further  remonstrance.  She  needed  it  all 
just  to  maintain  existence. 

37 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


When  they  had  left  the  last  of  the  pedestrians  and 
the  other  automobiles  behind  them  and  were  alone  on 
the  country  road  as  far  as  a  quick  glance  behind  them 
and  in  front  of  them  could  show,  Sallie  slowed  the  car 
again. 

"Aunt  Martha,"  she  bent  forward  to  look  into  Aunt 
Martha's  face.  "I  think  it  is  only  fair  to  tell  you  that 
you  have  been  kidnapped.  I  am  abducting  you." 


CHAPTER    III 

HORROR,  amazement  and  unbelief,  in  equal  parts, 
struggled  in  the  face  Madame  Cabot  turned 
to  her  great-niece. 

"Sallie!  Sallie  Waters!  What  do  you  mean?"  she 
managed  to  gasp  at  last. 

"Just  what  I  said."  Outwardly  Sallie  was  all  ada- 
mant, but  inwardly  she  quaked  horribly,  for  it  was 
rather  a  serious  matter  to  abduct  an  aunt  worth  several 
millions.  "I  have  kidnapped  you."  She  said  it  very 
slowly  and  very  distinctly  so  that  Madame  Cabot  could 
not  fail  to  understand  her. 

Madame  Cabot  was  speechless.  She  could  only  stare 
at  Sallie  until  her  great-niece  became  nothing  but  a 
blur.  It  couldn't  be  true.  It  wasn't  possible  that  a 
dimpled  slip  of  a  girl  could  do  such  a  thing.  Sallie  was 
joking  or  she  was  dreaming.  But  Sallie's  trembling 
fingers  did  not  guide  her  car  as  carefully  as  they  had 
and  when  it  ran  over  a  deep  rut  in  the  road  and 
bounced  them  from  the  seat,  Madame  Cabot  gave  a 

39 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


frightened  cry.  She  could  not  have  dreamed  that  rut. 
She  caught  Sallie's  arm  and  shook  her. 

"Sallie,"  she  tried  to  speak  firmly,  "take  me  home 
at  once." 

Sallie  drove  an  entire  mile  before  she  answered  and 
then  she  slowed  the  car  a  trifle  and  looked  at  her  aunt. 
There  was  not  a  dimple  to  be  seen  in  the  whole  area 
of  her  face.  It  was  as  serious  as  a  face  could  be  and 
had  a  firmness  that  Madame  Cabot  would  not  have 
thought  possible.  "I  am  not  going  to  take  you  home, 
Aunt  Martha,"  her  voice  was  as  firm  as  her  chin  and 
made  Madame  Cabot's  attempt  at  firmness  seem  a  poor 
thing.  Sallie  had  talked  firmly  for  seventeen  of  her 
nineteen  years  while  Aunt  Martha  was  more  accus- 
tomed to  being  spoken  to  firmly.  It  makes  a  difference. 
"Just  listen  to  me  for  a  minute,"  Sallie  went  on  more 
pleasantly.  "Last  night  you  said  your  life  was  all 
gray  and  scentless.  The  way  you  said  it  made  my 
heart  ache,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  then  and  there  that 
I  would  do  what  I  could  to  brighten  it  with  a  pink 
geranium  or  a  red  poppy,"  she  chuckled.  It  was  im- 
possible for  Sallie  to  be  serious  while  the  clock  hands 
went  very  far.  "Every  woman,"  she  was  sober  again, 
"has  a  right  to  a  pink  geranium  in  her  past  and  if  she 
hasn't  had  it  she  has  been  cheated.  When  the  check 
that  you  told  us  about  last  night  came  this  morning, 
the  five  thousand,  I  knew  I  could  finance  a  plan  to  give 

40 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


you  a  poppy  for  your  present.  The  past  is  beyond  me," 
she  admitted  it  reluctantly,  "but  I  can  lend  a  hand  in 
the  present  and  for  the  future.  I  knew  you  would  never 
consent  to  come  away  with  me  if  I  just  asked  you.  We 
can  have  quite  a  little  color  and  fragrance  for  five 
thousand  dollars  if  we  spend  it  judiciously."  She 
patted  the  pocket  of  her  green  corduroy  coat  that 
hung  over  the  back  of  the  seat  before  she  thrust  her 
fingers  into  it  and  drew  out  a  roll  of  bills.  "See !"  she 
said  delightedly,  waving  it  before  her  aunt  as  one  waves 
a  rattle  before  a  baby. 

Madame  Cabot's  eyes  grew  too  large  for  their  sock- 
ets. They  seemed  actually  to  hang  on  to  the  eyelids. 
"Sallie !  Sallie  Waters !  You  never  have  five  thousand 
dollars  there?  We'll  be  murdered!  We'll  be  robbed!" 
Her  voice  rose  to  a  shrill  shriek.  She  was  horribly 
frightened  and  looked  up  and  down  the  road  and  up 
into  the  sky  as  if  she  expected  robbers  and  murderers 
to  spring  from  space  and  make  her  words  good  at  once. 

"We  will  not.  At  least  I  don't  think  we  will,"  wisely 
modified  her  great-niece.  "It  won't  be  my  fault  if  we 
are."  She  swung  around  in  her  seat  and  regarded  her 
aunt  seriously.  "Don't  think  for  a  minute,  Aunt 
Martha,  that  I  am  trying  to  influence  you  to  leave  me 
the  Cabot  fortune.  I  don't  want  it.  I  wouldn't  know 
what  to  do  with  it,  for  it  is  too  big  to  spend,  and  that 
is  the  only  thing  I  can  do  with  money.  A  dollar  never 

4  41 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


has  a  hundred  cents  to  me,  but  just  so  much  happi- 
ness or  satisfaction.  And  I  haven't  any  claim  on  the 
Cabot  millions.  Uncle  Joshua  would  never  have  been 
anything  to  me  if  you  hadn't  married  him.  I  am  your 
great-niece,  your  only  sister's  only  grandchild,  and  you 
have  been  a  duck  of  an  aunt  to  me  always."  She  put 
out  her  arm  and  hugged  Madame  Cabot,  who  was  as 
responsive  as  the  telegraph  pole  that  stood  beside  them 
on  the  road  would  have  been.  "It  was  awful-ly  good 
of  you  to  include  me  and  send  me  a  check  as  you  did 
the  Cabots,  but  the  Cabot  money  belongs  to  the  Cabots, 
to  Richard,  I  should  say.  He  is  the  only  one  who  knows 
what  to  do  with  it.  Do  you  know  what  Rose  did  last 
night?  She  could  scarcely  wait  until  she  got  home, 
she  ran  from  the  car  straight  to  the  telephone  and 
called  up  Ben  Horton  and  told  him  they  could  be  mar- 
ried at  once.  AT  ONCE !  You  knew  they  were  en- 
gaged, but  Philip  wouldn't  consent  to  a  wedding  until 
Ben  could  give  Rose  a  home.  And  poor  Ben  hadn't 
a  sou  saved  up  for  furniture  and  things.  He  is  an 
awful-ly  good  sort,  but  the  Lord  never  intended  him 
for  a  fireman,  the  world  will  be  in  no  danger  from  him 
— ever!  So  your  check  was  a  fairy  gift  to  Rose.  I'm 
not  betraying  her  confidence  by  telling  you  that  she 
is  going  to  spend  that  money  to  make  a  home,  and  as 
an  old-fashioned  woman,  a  remnant,"  mischievously, 
"you  should  approve.  Homes  aren't  any  too  plentiful 

42 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


in  this  day.  Ever  since  I  bought  this  car,"  she  swung 
easily  into  another  subject,  "I  have  wanted  to  go  off 
on  an  adventure.  If  I  had  been  a  college  girl  I  would 
have  gone  alone,  but  as  I  received  what  education  I  have 
in  a  French  convent  instead  of  Smith  or  Bryn  Mawr  I 
couldn't  be  comfortable  without  a  chaperon.  You  are 
7T,  Aunt  Martha !"  She  patted  the  arm  of  the  speech- 
less IT  and  peered  into  her  face.  "You  are  It,"  she 
repeated  softly,  "and  we  are  going  to  have  a  corking 
time  gathering  poppies  and  geraniums.  I  hope  I  am 
not  to  be  mistaken  in  you."  There  was  a  hint  of  a 
rebuke  in  her  voice  then,  it  made  Aunt  Martha  feel  as 
if  she  was  to  blame  for  something.  "Last  night  you 
seemed  to  be— well,  discouraged  and  disappointed  that 
you  hadn't  had  more  fun.  You  know  I  believe  a  lot 
more  in  that  antique  proverb  about  it's  never  being 
too  old  to  learn  than  I  do  in  the  silly  one  that  Uncle 
Joshua  used  to  quote,  that  you  can't  teach  old  dogs 
new  tricks.  You've  earned  some  fun  by  your  patience 
and  you  are  going  to  have  it.  I  thought  you  wanted 
it.  Honest,  I  did!  But  you  can't  have  it  sitting  in  a 
big  house  full  of  relics  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and 
hedged  off  from  the  world  by  millions.  To  have  fun 
you  have  to  get  down  with  the  people.  Didn't  you 
know  that?" 

Whether  she  did  or  did  not  Aunt  Martha  never  told 
her,  but  sat  there  by  her  side,  a  stiff  figure  of  disap- 

43 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


proval.  The  very  feather  in  her  bonnet  quivered  with 
indignation  at  the  liberty  that  had  been  taken  with 
her.  How  dared  Sallie,  her  nineteen-year-old  niece  talk 
to  her  like  that?  For  another  mile  she  stormily  asked 
herself  the  question  and  received  no  satisfactory  answer. 
Sallie  stopped  the  car  abruptly  and  stood  up. 

"I  didn't  dare  put  a  trunk  on  the  car  in  town,"  she 
said,  peering  at  the  hedge.  "I  never  have  had  one,  and 
as  sure  as  I  had  put  one  on  I  would  have  met  one  of 
the  boys,  and  he  would  have  insisted  on  knowing  the 
reason.  Then  he  would  have  rescued  you,  Aunt  Martha. 
If  Dick  or  Phil  or  Stan  had  had  any  idea  of  what  was 
in  my  mind  they  would  have  blocked  it.  So  I  came 
out  here  this  morning  and  hid  our  baggage  in  the 
bushes."  She  jumped  out.  "Wait  a  minute,"  she 
called  before  she  dived  into  the  tangle  of  hazel  bushes 
and  wild  roses  that  separated  some  farmer's  field  from 
the  road. 

That  was  Madame  Cabot's  opportunity.  She  had 
only  to  step  from  the  car  to  escape.  Sallie  couldn't 
put  her  back  again.  She  could  wait  there  by  the  road 
until  someone  came  along  to  take  her  home  to  Waloo. 
It  might  not  be  very  dignified,  but — she  looked  over 
the  road  along  which  they  had  come,  and  at  the  end 
of  it  seemed  to  see  the  huge  Cabot  mansion?  far  too 
large  to  be  a  home  for  one  woman  even  if  she  did  have 
it  filled  with  servants ;  with  its  relics  of  Napoleon  and 

44 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


surrounded  by  a  million-dollar  hedge,  and  then  she 
glanced  beyond  her.  The  road  turned  sharply  a  few 
rods  ahead.  What  lay  around  that  turn  she  did  not 
know,  and  because  she  did  not  know  the  frown  that 
had  sadly  marred  the  pleasant  placidity  of  her  face 
slipped  from  it  and  instead  a  tiny  smile,  the  very  sug- 
gestion of  a  smile,  touched  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
She  made  no  movement  to  step  into  the  road.  She 
remained  firmly  placed  exactly  where  Sallie  Waters  had 
left  her. 

Sallie  came  back  pulling  a  shiny  new  black  motor 
trunk  and  began  to  strap  it  on  the  back  of  Blue  Bird. 
She  was  breathless,  for  she  was  not  accustomed  to  pull- 
ing motor  trunks  through  hedges  of  hazel  and  wild 
rose  bushes. 

"There  isn't  much  in  it,"  she  explained  between 
breaths.  "There's  a  tooth  brush  apiece  and  a  brush 
and  comb,  a  nightie,  of  course,  and  a  few  other  things. 
That's  why  I  told  you  to  put  on  your  plainest  things. 
Remember?"  she  asked  as  she  took  her  place  beside 
her  aunt  who  said  never  a  word,  but  who  had  retired 
the  suggestion  of  a  smile  in  favor  of  a  frown  so  men- 
acing that  Sallie  shook  her  head  as  she  saw  it  out  of  the 
tail  of  her  eye. 

They  sat  there  like  two  graven  images.  Salh'e's  un- 
gloved brown  fingers  rested  quietly  on  the  wheel.  Aunt 
Martha's  neat  black  kid  gloves  were  tensely  locked 

45 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


together  on  her  knee.  After  a  day  or  two,  it  seemed 
to  Aunt  Martha,  Sallie  spoke  and  her  voice  was  very 
different  from  what  it  had  been.  It  was  very  cool  and 
low  and  it  had  lost  completely  the  friendly  note  that  had 
made  it  so  adorable. 

"Perhaps  it  wasn't  fair  to  run  off  with  you  in  this 
way,  Aunt  Martha.  Perhaps  you  don't  want  color  and 
fragrance  in  your  life  as  much  as  you  thought  you  did. 
Perhaps  you  have  been  Madame  Cabot  so  long  that  you 
can't  be  a  joy-seeker,  too.  Just  say  the  word  and 
I'll  take  you  home!"  She  turned  a  calm  questioning 
face  to  her  aunt. 

Madame  Cabot  gasped  again.  She  caught  Sallie's 
fingers  from  the  wheel  and  held  them  tightly  between 
her  black  kid  gloves.  "No,"  she  managed  to  say. 
"Don't  take  me  back,  Sallie.  Let  us,"  she  swallowed 
twice  before  she  could  go  on,  "let  us  go  in  search  of  the 
color  and  fragrance  I  have  always  missed." 

Sallie  slipped  an  arm  around  her  shoulders  and 
hugged  her.  Aunt  Martha  was  accustomed  to  being 
embraced  when  she  met  people  and  when  they  left  her, 
but  twice  within  an  hour,  with  no  provocation  whatso- 
ever, Sallie  had  hugged  her.  And  now  she  added  com- 
mendation to  the  hug. 

"You  are  a  good  old  sport,  Aunt  Martha !"  She  said 
it  heartily,  for  she  meant  it. 

Aunt  Martha  had  been  called  a  great  many  commen- 

46 


Up  the  Road  t^ith  Sallie 


datory  names  in  the  course  of  her  irreproachable  life, 
but  she  had  never  been  dubbed  a  good  old  sport  before. 
She  liked  it,  liked  it  amazingly;  it  seemed  to  tear  ten 
years  from  her  sixty-three  at  once,  and  every  vestige 
of  the  frown  disappeared  to  make  room  for  the  smile 
that  lighted  her  face  as  if  a  curtain  had  been  raised  in 
a  darkened  room.  At  the  same  time  she  grumbled,  she 
had  to  make  some  protest  to  retain  her  self-respect : 

"If  you  had  your  trunk  hidden  on  this  road  why  did 
you  make  me  go  through  the  farce  of  tossing  that  coin? 
You  meant  to  come  this  way  all  of  the  time." 

Sallie  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "But  Fate  never 
would  have  sent  us  over  any  but  the  river  road,"  she 
cried.  "It  is  much  more  romantic  than  the  cross  coun- 
try. I  can,"  she  tried  to  add  impressively,  "always 
trust  to  Luck,"  but  she  had  to  chuckle. 

"Oh,  you  can  ?"  questioned  Aunt  Martha  feebly.  She 
gathered  courage  to  ask  another  question.  "Where 
are  we  going  and  what  are  we  going  to  do,  Sallie 
Waters?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Sallie  answered  serenely  and  truth- 
fully. "All  I  know  is  that  we  are  on  the  way  to  some- 
where and  that  something  will  happen.  Isn't  that 
enough?"  gaily.  "What  a  nice  nose  that  man  had  who 
picked  my  five-franc  piece  out  of  the  dust,"  she  went 
on  reflectively.  "I  always  notice  noses.  Mine  is  such 
a  per-fect-ly  ridiculous  substitute."  She  touched  the 

47 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


substitute  with  scornful  fingers.  "Didn't  you  think  he 
had  a  mighty  nice  nose  ?"  she  insisted. 

"Mercy,  child,  I  never  saw  it!"  Madame  Cabot  was 
not  interested  in  casual  noses.  "I  never  notice  the  fea- 
tures of  people  I  chance  to  pass." 

"You  don't !"  Sallie  was  astonished.  "What  do  you 
notice  about  them?"  She  thirsted  for  the  information. 

Aunt  Martha  looked  impatient  and  then  laughed.  "I 
am  afraid  that  I  don't  notice  them  at  all.  People 
haven't  interested  me  for  years.  Perhaps  that  is  the 
reason  I  have  found  the  world  so  uninteresting." 

"Of  course  it's  the  reason."  Sallie  hadn't  the  slight- 
est doubt  of  it.  "You  must  expect  to  be  bored  if  you 
aren't  interested  in  anything  but  yourself.  What's 
that  ?"  she  put  her  hand  so  suddenly  on  Aunt  Martha's 
black  kids  that  Aunt  Martha  jumped. 

"What's  what?"  she  wanted  to  know  fearfully.  And 
again  she  looked  up  the  road  and  down  the  road.  She 
suddenly  remembered  the  roll  of  bills  in  Sallie's  coat 
pocket.  What  little  color  the  sun  and  wind  had  given 
her  since  Sallie  had  abducted  her  fled  from  her  face. 

"It  smells  like  apples."  Sallie  sniffed  the  air  criti- 
cally. "It  is  apples.  There  must  be  an  orchard  over 
there."  She  stopped  the  car  and  rose  to  stand  on 
tiptoe  the  better  to  look  over  the  tangled  network  of 
bushes  and  wild  grape  vines  that  separated  "over  there" 
from  "here."  "It  is  an  orchard."  She  was  delighted. 

48 


is  an  orchard.'      She  was  delighted." 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"A  good  thing,  too,  for  I'm  starving.  Just  a  minute." 
And  before  Madame  Cabot  could  open  her  lips  to  say, 
"Is  there,"  Sallie  was  out  of  the  car  and  through  the 
hedge. 

She  left  her  aunt  on  pins  and  needles  instead  of  the 
best  upholstered  springs.  Madame  Cabot  called  sharply 
but  nothing  answered  her  but  a  polite  bird  who  spoke 
pleasantly  from  a  neighboring  tree.  There  was  noth- 
ing Aunt  Martha  could  do  but  wait  until  Sallie  came 
back,  and  she  tried  to  do  it  calmly.  But  she  did  not 
like  it,  she  told  the  roadster  severely.  "It  isn't  safe 
for  a  girl  to  run  into  strange  orchards  with  her  pockets 
full  of  money.  It  isn't  safe."  And  then  she  remem- 
bered that  the  money  was  in  the  pocket  of  the  corduroy 
coat  that  was  thrown  over  the  seat  of  the  car.  She 
looked  at  it  with  fascinated  eyes.  What  a  danger  it 
was,  a  menace,  and  yet — it  was  a  necessity  also. 

She  heard  a  startled  scream  that  raised  her  to  her 
feet,  her  hands  clutching  the  coat.  Then  she  heard 
voices,  Sallie's  mingled  with  deeper  masculine  tones  that 
made  her  thrust  the  coat  behind  her.  What  could  she 
do?  What  should  she  do?  It  was  awful  to  be  thrown 
so  suddenly  upon  her  own  thoughts  after  having  had 
someone  think  for  her  all  of  her  life.  She  looked  at 
the  hedge  despairingly.  She  could  not  push  through 
it  as  Sallie  had  done,  and  yet  she  could  not  leave  Sallie 
alone  in  the  orchard  with  a  strange  man  who  might 

49 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


beat  through  at  any  minute  and  demand  her  money 
or  her  life.  She  was  alternately  in  a  chill  and  a  fever 
as  she  stood  there  asking  herself  frantically  what  she 
could  do. 

Before  she  had  found  out,  Sallie's  yellow  head  was 
thrust  through  the  hedge  and  Sallie  called  excitedly : 

"Oh,  Aunt  Martha !  Would  you  take  a  job  of  picking 
apples  at  two  dollars  a  day  and  board  ?" 

Aunt  Martha  dropped  heavily  back  in  the  seat  as  an- 
other head,  a  masculine  one,  appeared  beside  Sallie's. 
In  the  masculine  eyes  was  curiosity,  a  great  and  eager 
curiosity. 

"Sallie!  Sallie  Waters!"  gasped  Madame  Cabot. 
"Sallie  Waters  !"  She  couldn't  say  another  word.  She 
had  not  breath  enough.  She  could  only  stare  with 
bulging  eyes  from  the  smiling  face  to  the  curious  one. 

"Would  you?"  insisted  Sallie.  "They  are  Wealthy 
apples."  As  if  the  variety  of  apples  would  make  any 
difference.  "Two  dollars  a  day  and  board,"  she  re- 
peated impressively. 

Then  Aunt  Martha  found  her  voice  and  discovered 
also  that  under  proper  provocation  she  could  speak 
firmly. 

"Come  here  at  once,  Sallie.    We  must  go  on." 

It  was  Sallie's  turn  to  look  at  the  two  faces  and  she 
glanced  from  the  stern  visage  of  her  relative  to  the  curi- 
ous apple  grower. 

50 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"I'm  awfully  afraid  I  can't  accept  your  offer,"  she 
said  and  there  was  a  lot  of  regret  in  her  voice.  "If  my 
aunt  doesn't  care  to  pick  apples  of  course  I  can't.  It's 
too  bad.  Two  dollars  a  day  and  board,"  she  murmured 
still  with  regret  as  she  crept  through  the  hedge  and 
came  up  to  the  car  where  Aunt  Martha  sat  waiting  for 
her  looking  as  distant  and  forbidding  as  is  in  the  power 
of  a  well-bred  woman,  which  is  very  distant  and  forbid- 
ding, indeed. 

The  apple  grower  came,  too.  His  hands  were  full 
of  apples  which  he  put,  one  by  one,  in  Sallie's  lap. 

"I'm  sorry  that  you  can't  stay,"  he  said,  and  he 
looked  very  sorry.  "You  would  like  picking  apples, 
I  know,  and  I  think  the  old  lady  would  be  comfort- 
able." 

Old  lady !    Madame  Cabot's  feather  bristled. 

Sallie  giggled.  "I  am  sure  I  should  and  just  as 
sure  she  would,"  she  answered,  trying  to  bring  her  dim- 
ples into  order.  "Are  you  going  to  let  us  have  all  of 
these  ?  It  was  too  funny,  Aunt  Martha,"  she  explained, 
politely  taking  Aunt  Martha  into  the  conversation,  as 
she  put  her  white  teeth  into  the  rosy  cheek  of  one  of  the 
Wealthy  apples.  "I  was  trying  to  reach  an  apple 
when  I  heard  a  voice  away  up  in  the  tree,  it  seemed  to 
come  from  the  very  sky,  say  'If  you  must  steal  my 
apples  why  steal  green  ones.'  And  then  this — this 
gentleman " 

51 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"My  name,"  the  apple  grower  said  most  courteously, 
"is  Bent,  Harvey  Bent." 

"Mr.  Bent,"  Sallie  smiled  and  inclined  her  head  as  if 
the  introduction  had  been  of  the  most  formal  nature, 
"climbed  down  the  tree  and  offered  to  pick  me  ripe 
apples.  He  is  short  of  help  and  thought  perhaps " 

"I  thought  perhaps,"  agreed  Harvey  Bent  as  she 
hesitated.  "It  is  pleasant  work,  out  in  the  fresh  air 
and  under  my  personal  supervision." 

"Yes,  under  his  personal  supervision,  Aunt  Martha," 
emphasized  Sallie  eagerly. 

Madame  Cabot  bowed  augustly  to-  show  that  she  had 
heard,  but  she  refused  to  separate  one  firm  lip  from  an- 
other to  tell  them  what  she  thought  of  working  under 
Mr.  Bent's  personal  supervision. 

"We  will  go  on,  Sallie,"  she  said  in  the  tone  that  she 
used  to  her  high-priced  chauffeur  when  he  was  not  in 
favor.  "But  first  pay  Mr. — er — Bent  for  his  apples." 

Sallie  and  Mr.  Bent  both  changed  color  to  match  the 
rosy  apples  in  Sallie's  lap. 

"Aunt  Martha!"  cried  Sallie  in  distress. 

"There  is  no  charge,"  Mr.  Bent  said  as  haughtily  as 
he  could  with  a  fly  buzzing  most  annoyingly  before  his 
nose.  "The  apples  are-er  samples.  If  you  like  them 
perhaps  you  will  ask  your  grocer  for  Bent's  apples, 
Bent's  Wealthy  apples,"  he  added  very  grandly. 

"We  will,"  heartily  promised  Sallie.    "I  shall  see  that 

52 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


our  grocer  carries  them  in  the  future  if  he  doesn't  now. 
And  thank  you  so  much.  Good-by.  I'm  sorry  I  can't 
stay  and  help  you  pick  them." 

"So  am  I,"  he  said  from  the  very  depths  of  his  deep 
heart  and  he  stood  in  the  road  and  looked  after  them 
until  a  sharp  turn  ahead  took  them  out  of  his  sight. 

"If  that  is  the  way  you  meet  adventure,  Aunt 
Martha,  I  don't  wonder  you  never  had  any  color  in 
your  life,"  Sallie  said  as  well  as  she  could  with  her 
mouth  full  of  red-cheeked  Wealthy  apple. 

"If  that  is  the  way  the  nuns  taught  you  to  behave, 
Sallie  Waters !"  began  Aunt  Martha  nobly. 

Sallie  stopped  eating  apple  to  look  pityingly  at  her 
aunt.  "They  taught  me  to  be  courteous  and  pleasant 
to  my  fellow  creatures,"  she  said  very  distinctly  and  a 
trifle  distantly.  "They  taught  me  to  look  for  the  good 
in  people,  for  then  they  knew  I  wouldn't  see  the  bad  if 
there  was  any  which  there  isn't  nine  times  out  of  ten. 
It  is  suspicious  evil-minded  people  who  discover  evil, 
Aunt  Martha.  Harvey's  a  graduate  of  the  agricul- 
tural college,"  she  went  on  more  sociably.  "An  aw- 
fully nice  man,  I  should  say.  His  father  and  grand- 
father lived  on  that  same  farm  but  it  has  rather  gone 
to  the  bad.  Harvey's  trying  all  sorts  of  experiments 
and  he's  being  mighty  successful.  These  very  apples," 
impressively,  "won  the  first  prize  at  the  state  fair  last 
year.  Do  try  one,  Aunt  Martha.  They  are  good. 

53 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Did  you  notice  his  mouth?  It  had  the  most  fascinating 
tilt  to  the  corners  when  he  smiled.  Did  you  notice?" 

The  apple  grower's  mouth.  The  idle  pedestrian's 
nose.  What  next?  And  how  had  Sallie  managed  to 
obtain  so  much  information  about  a  perfect  stranger 
in  such  a  short  time?  Aunt  Martha  groaned. 

"I  did  not!"  she  said  emphatically.  "It  is  a  pity, 
Sallie,  that  you  did  not  go  to  college." 

"I  am  too  light-minded  to  have  done  anything  in 
college."  Sallie  wasn't  at  all  offended.  "It  is  a  pity 
though,  that  we  didn't  take  on  that  job  for  a  few  days. 
We  could  have  learned  a  lot  about — apple  growing," 
hastily,  as  she  met  her  aunt's  chilly  eye,  "and  Grand- 
daddy  Waters  is  always  telling  me  that  one  needs  all 
sorts  of  information  to  get  along  in  this  world.  And 
we  could  have  earned  two  dollars  a  day  and  board !" 

"I  never  earned  two  dollars  a  day  in  my  life,"  re- 
turned Aunt  Martha  very  loftily. 

"Neither  did  I,"  Sallie  spoke  sadly  as  if  she  regretted 
the  fact.  "But  neither  of  us  can  do  it  younger.  I 
wish  you  would  try  an  apple,  Aunt  Martha.  Did  I  tell 
you  that  Harvey  is  going  to  specialize  on  apples  for 
individual  use?  He  said  that  the  apples  growers  put 
on  the  market  now  are  family  apples  and  they  are  big 
enough  for  a  family.  He  is  going  to  grow  nice  little 
ones  for  individuals.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  recom- 
mend them  to  your  grocer  unless  you  try  one." 

54 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


So  willy,  nilly,  Aunt  Martha  had  to  taste  one  of 
Harvey  Bent's  prize  Wealthy  apples. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  she  said  between  mouthfuls,  "but 
we  had  better  go  back  to  Waloo." 

"Waloo  !"  shrieked  Sallie.  "Pooh !  We're  not  going 
home  yet.  We  have  only  started.  We'll  follow  this 
river  road  for  miles  and  miles,"  she  promised  her  aunt 
radiantly.  "It  is  a  beautiful  road,  but  the  Mississippi" 
— she  looked  at  it  critically  as  it  rolled  along  a  hundred 
feet  below  the  road  that  ran  beside  the  edge  of  the  steep 
bank — "aren't  you  sometimes  disappointed  in  the  Mis- 
sissippi, Aunt  Martha?  When  I  studied  geography 
and  learned  that  it  was  the  Father  of  Waters  I  thought 
it  must  be  miles  wide  everywhere  but  at  Waloo,  and  it 
was  narrow  there  on  account  of  the  bluffs,  but  here — 
I  believe  we  could  throw  an  apple  across  it."  She  eyed 
the  distance  speculatively  and  thrust  an  apple  into  her 
aunt's  hand.  "You  try,  Aunt  Martha." 


CHAPTER    IV 

FOR  two  days  they  wandered  idly  with  the  river 
road,  sometimes  to  the  east,  then  to  the  west  and 
again  due  north,  and  always  under  skies  as  blue 
as  the  bluest  made  in  Italy  and  with  a  sun  that  was  so 
full  of  good  fellowship  that  it  was  never  too  warm  nor 
too  cold  but  always  just  right.     It  was  an  enchanted 
world  they  journeyed  in,  for  Jack  Frost  was  a  most 
early  bird  that  fall  and  had  already  marked  the  oaks 
and  maples  with  his  special  blaze. 

They  drove  for  miles  on  a  level  with  the  river  and 
then  mounted  the  bluffs  to  run  for  as  many  miles 
through  a  land  as  soft  and  rich  in  hue  as  a  Persian 
carpet.  The  pattern  was  as  conventional,  a  field  of 
golden  stubble  between  a  newly  plowed  section  of  choco- 
late earth  and  a  meadow  lushly  green  while  here  and 
there  were  clumps  of  sumac,  redder  than  any  ruby, 
and  hazel  bushes,  all  bronze  and  green ;  wild  grape  and 
woodbine  that  held  a  whole  rainbow  in  their  tangles. 
Maples  tipped  with  scarlet  as  if  a  flame  had  leaped 

56 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


from  branch  to  branch ;  oaks,  red  and  russet ;  with  wil- 
lows and  cottonwoods,  as  golden  as  the  sun,  crowded 
against  each  other  up  the  high  bluffs.  Far  below  they 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  wide  ribbon  of  silver 
touched  here  and  there  with  blue  borrowed  from  the 
friendly  sky,  that  is  called  the  Mississippi  River.  No- 
where is  the  world  more  beautiful  in  September  than 
along  that  river  valley. 

The  first  night  they  stopped  at  Bluff  and  Sallie  sent 
a  telegram  to  Judkins  that  made  that  worthy  man  purse 
his  lips  before  he  hunted  up  the  black-silked  house- 
keeper. 

"She's  daft,"  he  whispered  darkly,  "to  go  off  in  this 
way  with  a  flutterhead  like  Miss  Sallie.  Not  but  what 
M!iss  Sallie  ain't  all  right,  for  she  is,  she's  as  fine  as 
they  make  'em ;  but  it's  man's  business  to  run  an  auty- 
mobile.  If  you  take  my  advice,  Mrs.  Hoskins,  you'll 
have  plenty  of  hot  water  bottles  and  bandages  ready. 
They  won't  come  back  the  way  they  went,  you  mark  my 
words.  If  Judge  Cabot  were  alive  today  the  Madame 
would  never  have  gone  off  in  that  baby  carriage,"  he 
concluded  gloomily. 

"She  would  not,"  agreed  the  black-silked  Mrs.  Hos- 
kins as  gloomily  and  they  told  the  truth.  If  Judge 
Cabot  had  been  ah've  Madame  Cabot  most  certainly 
would  not  have  gone  flower-seeking  with  Sallie  Waters. 

Unlike  the  great  Samuel  Johnson,  Madame   Cabot 

5  57 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


could  not  boast  that  she  was  never  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  place,  for  she  felt  a  most  decided  stranger  at 
the  Bluff  House.  She  had  small  acquaintance  with  the 
little  towns  of  her  state  and  the  hotels  she  knew  were  of 
the  class  whose  tariff  is  mostly  "up."  The  Bluff  House 
was  not  even  in  the  neighborhood  of  that  group  and 
after  a  dinner  that  made  her  ask  herself  if  she  really 
had  the  spirit  of  an  adventurer  Sallie  persuaded  her 
to  go  to  a  moving  picture  show.  She  had  never  been 
to  a  moving  picture  show  in  her  life.  All  she  knew  of 
them  she  had  glimpsed  from  the  rather  gaudy  exteriors 
as  she  was  driven  by  them  and  they  had  not  made  a 
favorable  impression  upon  her.  But  neither  had  their 
room  at  the  Bluff  House.  It  was  so  different  from  her 
pink  suite  in  the  Cabot  mansion  that  it  should  have 
interested  her  from  the  contrast,  but  it  did  not  and  she 
was  glad  to  go  with  Sallie  out  into  the  fresh  evening  air. 

But  going  to  a  moving  picture  show  was  a  vastly 
different  matter  and  she  was  not  exactly  sure,  not  at 
all  sure,  she  kept  murmuring  as  she  followed  Sallie  into 
the  darkened  Star.  She  stumbled  into  a  seat  with  a 
breathless  feeling  of  having  escaped  some  danger,  she 
did  not  know  what,  and  then,  with  bated  breath,  she 
waited  to  see  what  would  happen. 

Perhaps  if  she  had  not  been  bent  on  adventure  her- 
self, "The  Dangers  of  Dora"  would  have  impressed  her 
as  poor  stuff,  as  unadulterated  trash,  but  the  after- 

58 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


noon's  ride  through  the  gorgeously  painted  world  had 
put  her  in  a  mood  that  was  rare  with  her.  She  clutched 
Sallie's  arm  as  she  watched  the  matchless  Dora  sur- 
mount one  peril  after  another  and  Sallie  chuckled  and 
in  her  turn  put  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  her  seat.  At 
least  that  was  what  she  meant  to  do  but  her  fingers 
closed  on  the  sleeve  of  a  coat.  She  could  feel  the  differ- 
ence between  serge  and  wood  and  gave  a  little  squeal 
as  she  looked  up  into  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Harvey  Bent, 
apple  grower. 

"Why — why!"  she  gasped.  There  was  no  doubt 
that  she  was  amazed. 

"Why — why !"  he  bent  down  as  if  to  see  who  she  was. 
"It's  the  chauffeur !"  You  would  have  thought  that  he 
was  the  most  surprised  man  in  the  world. 

For  a  moment  they  grinned  at  each  other  and  then 
he  said,  Oh,  very  softly  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  admirers 
of  Dora :  "I  am  glad  I  met  you.  I'd  like  to  make  sure 
you  get  our  best  apples.  You  forgot  to  tell  me  where 
to  send  them?"  He  paused  suggestively  and  hopefully. 

"Waloo,"  promptly  answered  Sallie. 

"Will  just  Waloo  reach  you?"  He  was  doubtful  but 
he  smiled  and  Sallie  admired  his  mouth  again  until 
something  in  its  curve  made  her  catch  her  breath. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  send  them  to  the  grocer — 
Smith  and  Watson — then  other  people  can  have  a 
chance  to  see  how  good  they  are,"  she  said  most  de- 

59 


Up  the  Road  'with  Sallie 


murely.    "You  want  to  build  up  your  trade,  you  know.'* 

He  started  to  tell  her  that  there  were  other  things  he 
would  like  to  build  up  as  well  as  his  trade  but  "The 
Dangers  of  Dora"  had  been  brought  to  a  thrilling  cli- 
max with  the  words — "The  next  part  of  'The  Dangers 
of  Dora'  will  be  shown  in  this  theater  next  week" — 
and  Aunt  Martha  had  become  aware  that  her  young 
niece  was  talking  to  a  stranger — a  man — the  apple 
man.  She  rose  suddenly  and  catching  Sallie  by  the 
arm  drew  her  stumblingly  past  three  women  and  a  man 
and  a  half,  the  half  portion  being  the  young  son  of  the 
whole  portion,  out  into  the  night.  The  black  feathers 
on  the  hat  that  Sallie  had  pinched  into  a  more  youth- 
ful shape,  quivered  crookedly  as  she  stopped  just  out- 
side the  door  and  said  one  word : 

"Sallie!" 

Sallie  had  stopped,  also,  before  a  gaudy  billboard 
which  pictured  Dora  in  her  greatest  danger. 

"That,"  she  spoke  slowly,  lingeringly  and  enviously. 
"That  is  life!" 

Her  aunt  snorted.  Yes,  Madame  Joshua  Cabot 
of  Waloo  actually  snorted.  "If  it  is,  very  few  of  us 
live,"  she  said  contemptuously. 

And  the  very  next  afternoon  just  to  prove  how  little 
she  knew  of  life  they  were  arrested.  To  be  sure  it  was 
only  for  speeding  but  an  arrest  is  an  arrest  and  no 
Cabot  woman  had  ever  had  her  name  on  a  police  record. 

60 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


It  really  was  not  entirely  Sallie's  fault.  The  blarne 
could  be  placed  on  the  road  commissioners  of  the  county 
who  had  built  such  a  delectably  smooth  roadway  that 
no  motorist  could  resist  it.  It  was  a  wide  ribbon  of 
temptation.  It  was  impossible  not  to  put  on  high  speed 
and  fly  forward  until  stopped  by  a  man  on  a  motor- 
cycle who  lay  in  ambush. 

Aunt  Martha  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  mounted  man 
and  she  remembered  the  roll  of  money  that  Sallie  would 
carry  in  the  pocket  of  her  coat.  There  was  but  one 
thought  that  could  follow.  Bandits.  Highwaymen. 
She  was  sure  the  motorcyclist  was  the  member  of  a 
band. 

"Don't  stop,  Sallie!"  she  shrieked.    "Don't  stop!" 

"I  think  I'd  better,"  Sallie  answered  reluctantly. 
"You  can't  afford  to  get  the  police  down  on  you  if  you 
want  to  run  a  car." 

"The  police !"  They  were  as  unpleasant  to  think  of 
as  bandits.  Aunt  Martha's  face  turned  a  pasty  gray 
and  her  heart  missed  every  other  beat  as  they  waited 
for  the  cyclist  to  overtake  them.  It  was  with  a  voice 
that  trembled  a  quarter  with  anger  and  three-quarters 
with  fear  that  she  wanted  to  know  why  they  had  been 
stopped  on  the  highroad.  The  voice  and  manner  went 
better  with  her  limousine  and  two  men  on  the  front  of 
it  than  with  a  rakish  roadster  and  a  girl  driver;  a  girl, 
who  nodded,  not  unpleasantly,  at  the  cyclist  when  he 

61 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


dismounted  and  came  to  them.  Without  a  word  he  bent 
to  look  at  the  speedometer  and  chuckled. 

"There  hain't  a  mite  of  use  telling  me  you  wasn't 
breakin'  the  law,"  he  said  gleefully.  "That  little  ma- 
chine'd  give  you  the  lie.  I  guess  you'd  better  come 
along  with  me." 

"And  who  are  you?"  Aunt  Martha's  voice  was 
an  icicle,  cold  and  thin  and  long. 

It  failed  to  chill  the  chuckling  man.  "I,  ma'am?  I'm 
Constable  Ryan  of  Prairieville.  Now,  ladies,"  he 
smiled  pleasantly.  "Will  you  come  peaceable  or  shall 
I  run  your  car  to  the  J.  P's.  office  myself?" 

"The  J.  P.  ?"  questioned  Aunt  Martha  with  a  sniff. 

"The  Justice  of  the  Peace.  You're  under  arrest,  you 
know." 

Under  arrest.  After  sixty-three  years  of  blameless 
living  Madame  Cabot,  the  widow  of  the  late  Judge 
Joshua  Cabot  of  Waloo,  was  under  arrest.  She  was 
speechless.  She  could  do  nothing  but  stare  at  the  reed- 
like  little  man  who  had  dared  to  do  such  a  thing  to  her 
while  Sallie  explained  that  of  course  she  would  drive 
the  car  to  the  J.  P.'s  office,  if  that  was  what  the  con- 
stable wished  her  to  do.  She  wouldn't  think  of  resist- 
ing nor  of  objecting  nor  of  anything  else.  All  she 
wished  to  do  was  to  pay  her  fine  as  speedily  as  possible 
and  go  on. 

"We  got  a  new  jail,"  boasted  the  constable  as  he 

62 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


mounted  his  machine  and  prepared  to  escort  the  road- 
ster to  the  J.  P.'s  office.  "You  could  be  the  first  to  try 
one  of  the  cells." 

Sallie  laughed.  "What  do  you  think  of  that,  Aunt 
Martha?  You  didn't  like  the  Bluff  House.  Do  you 
think  you  would  care  for  the  Prairieville  new  jail?" 

Very  properly  Aunt  Martha  refused  to  answer  her. 
But  although  outwardly  she  was  all  scorn  and  proud 
contempt  inwardly  she  was  a  very  jelly  of  fear.  She 
was  not  sure  what  Sallie,  with  her  thirst  for  romance 
and  adventure,  might  do.  Aunt  Martha  had  not  a  cop- 
per cent  herself.  She  had  never  thought  to  take  her 
purse  when  Sallie  invited  her  for  a  little  drive  in  her 
car.  And  now?  She  couldn't  wire  her  lawyer.  It 
might  get  in  the  newspapers  and  people  would  laugh. 
She  wouldn't  be  laughed  at  now.  Faintly  she  heard 
Sallie  question  the  constable  about  the  new  jail  and  she 
wished  she  understood  her  better.  It  might  be  like  Sal- 
lie  to  wish  to  try  the  new  jail.  With  a  cold  shiver  she 
remembered  that  Sallie  had  spoken  enviously  of  "The 
Dangers  of  Dora"  and  Dora  had  been  in  more  than  one 
jail.  She  wished  she  was  home,  safe  in  the  Cabot  man- 
sion with  Judkins  on  guard  at  the  door.  She  pulled 
her  veil  over  her  face  and  wished  it  were  thicker  as  she 
obeyed  the  constable  and  went  with  Sallie  into  the  J. 
P.'s  office. 

But  at  the  very  threshold  Sallie  opened  her  vanity 

63 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


box  and  powdered  her  ridiculous  nose  which  was  now 
far,  far  too  brown  to  harmonize  perfectly  with  her  yel- 
low hair,  for  the  black  velour  hat  had  taken  the  journey 
tucked  anywhere  but  on  Sallie's  head.  Aunt  Martha 
opened  her  mouth.  It  looked  to  her  like  contempt  of 
the  most  contemptuous  form.  Sallie  saw  her  and  with 
an  apology  offered  her  aunt  the  powder.  Aunt  Martha 
refused  it  with  scorn.  How  could  she  think  of  powder 
or  of  noses  when  she  was  wondering  if  she  would  live  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  the  J.  P.'s  office?  But  she  did, 
she  lived  to  take  the  armchair  that  the  constable  pushed 
toward  her  at  the  request  of  a  voice.  It  was  several 
minutes  before  she  was  sure  there  was  anything  in  the 
room  except  a  voice  but  as  the  seconds  were  ticked  off 
and  nothing  happened  she  became  aware  that  Sallie  was 
talking  to  a  man  who  must  be  the  J.  P.  because  there 
was  no  one  else  there.  He  looked  absurdly  young  for  a 
J.  P.  Too  young  to  hear  the  case  properly.  An  older 
man,  Aunt  Martha  was  sure,  would  have  more  sym- 
pathy, more  understanding.  At  that  moment  she  quite 
agreed  with  what  Judge  Cabot  had  so  often  said,  that 
the  country  would  go  to  the  dogs  if  people  let  school 
boys  run  it  for  them. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  almost  ten  years  since  this 
particular  J.  P.  had  played  on  his  university  football 
team  but  he  did  look  absurdly  young.  It  was  as  much 
of  a  grief  to  him  as  it  was  to  Madame  Cabot.  At  least 

64 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


it  had  been  but  he  was  not  so  sure  as  he  looked  at  the 
culprits  Constable  Ryan  displayed  with  such  pride. 

Madame  Cabot  shivered  again  as  she  heard  him  ask 
their  names.  She  wished  the  floor  would  open  and  re- 
move her  before  she  heard  the  name  of  Cabot  uttered 
in  a  court  room.  But  the  floor  did  not  open  and  neither 
did  she  hear  the  name  of  Cabot.  She  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve her  ears  when  Sallie  said  clearly  and  without  a 
blush  that  her  name  was  Sarah  Smith,  Sarah  Elizabeth 
Smith,  and  her  aunt  was  Mrs.  Martha  Smith. 

"Indeed,"  remarked  the  J.  P.  as  he  made  a  careful 
note  of  the  fact.  "You  know  in  some  towns  it  is  a  mis- 
demeanor, punishable  with  imprisonment,  to  give  an  as- 
sumed name,"  he  added  pleasantly. 

"In  what  towns?"  asked  Sallie  eagerly  and  when  he 
shook  his  head  she  said:  "It  isn't  a  misdemeanor  in 
Prairieville."  She  made  a  statement  of  it,  not  a  ques- 
tion, and  the  J.  P.  admitted  that  she  was  right  before 
he  asked  her  why  she  broke  the  laws. 

And  Sallie  blamed  it  on  the  road  commissioners  in 
unmistakable  terms.  A  procession  of  shivers  marched 
up  the  rigid  spine  of  Madame  Cabot  and  then  marched 
down  again  as  she  heard  her  great-niece.  She  had  to 
think  again  of  contempt  of  court  and  wonder  if  she  had 
not  better  wire  to  her  lawyer  or  to  Richard  at  once. 
One  really  needed  a  man  at  times.  It  was  not  safe  to 
travel  far  without  one. 

65 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


But  the  J.  P.,  young  as  he  appeared,  had  a  gen- 
erous share  of  patience  and  only  smiled  pleasantly  and 
asked  the  constable  to  pull  the  shade  so  that  the  sun 
would  not  shine  in  Mrs. — er — Smith's  eyes.  He  ex- 
plained to  Sallie  that  some  day  the  road  commissioners 
hoped  to  have  roads  just  as  alluring  all  over  the  coun- 
try and  then  motorists  would  have  to  exercise  great 
self-control  or  contribute  generously  to  the  county 
funds. 

Aunt  Martha  drew  a  long  breath.  She  was  so  glad 
that  he  did  not  say  go  to  jail.  She  would  be  glad  to 
contribute  to  the  county  funds,  but  never  again  would 
she  motor  over  the  roads  of  Wheat  County,  alluring 
though  they  might  be.  Never! 

"It  is  really  just  luck  that  we  came  this  way,"  she 
heard  Sallie  say.  "We  would  never  have  taken  the 
river  road  if  my  aunt  hadn't  tossed  a  five-franc  piece. 
It  was  a  coin,"  she  explained  to  the  interested  J.  P., 
"that  saved  a  man's  life  at  the  battle  of  Gravelotte. 
It  was  in  his  pocket,  you  know,  and  the  bullet  hit  him 
and  glanced  aside.  It  was  given  to  me  and  Aunt 
Martha  tossed " 

"Sallie!"  Aunt  Martha  was  indignant.  Surely  it 
was  not  necessary  for  Sallie  to  tell  all  the  Mississippi 
Valley,  to  testify  before  a  J.  P.,  that  she  tossed  coins. 
It  sounded  much  like  gambling  to  her,  although  she 
would  have  been  puzzled  to  have  told  you  why. 

66 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


The  J.  P.  was  disappointed  to  have  the  story  cut 
off  at  that  particular  point,  but  when  Sallie  obeyed 
Aunt  Martha  and  held  her  tongue,  he  smiled  at  them 
very  cheerfully. 

"We  have  rather  stringent  laws  in  regard  to  speed 
in  Wheat  County.  But  the  necessity  of  making  them 
was  forced  upon  us.  We  had  too  many  accidents  early 
in  the  season,  and  now —  You  know  we  have  built 
a  new  jail?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"For  the  accommodation  of  motorists?"  asked  Sallie, 
while  Aunt  Martha  emulated  an  aspen  and  shook  be- 
hind her  veil. 

"Several  motorists  have  stopped  there,"  admitted 
the  J.  P.  "Now  in  your  case — you  admit  that  you 
were  going  faster  than  the  law  allows,  admit  that  our 
road  tempted  you?"  He  put  the  question  in  the  best 
J.  P.  manner ;  voice  and  face  could  not  have  been  more 
serious. 

The  constable  opened  his  mouth  to  say  she  did  if 
Sallie  said  she  didn't,  but  Sallie  spoke  up  in  a  loud, 
clear  voice: 

"I  do."  It  reminded  her  of  some  sort  of  service  as 
she  said  it,  and  she  laughed. 

The  J.  P.  did  not  laugh.  "In  that  case  the  law  im- 
poses a  fine,"  he  went  on  as  seriously  as  a  Justice  of 
the  Peace  could  go  on.  "A  fine  that  may  be  as  high 
as  a  hundred  dollars." 

67 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Little  did  Aunt  Martha  care  how  high  it  was.  Sallie 
had  many  times  a  hundred  dollars  in  her  pocket.  Aunt 
Martha  was  willing  to  have  her  pay  any  of  it,  all  of 
it,  to  be  free  from  the  embarrassing  position  in  which 
she  found  herself.  Aunt  Martha  did  not  like  being 
arrested.  It  was  Sallie,  the  custodian  of  the  funds, 
who  had  the  hardihood  to  say,  gently : 

"A  bit  high,  I  think.     Don't  you?" 

The  J.  P.  refused  to  commit  himself  and  continued: 
"But  as  you  have  admitted  your  misdemeanor  and 
made  no  attempt  to  resist  the  constable — they  made 
no  attempt,  Constable  Ryan?"  sharply. 

"Nairy  an  attempt,"  grinned  the  constable.  "They 
come  like  lambs  to  the  slaughter." 

Aunt  Martha  glared  at  him.  Never,  in  all  of  her 
life,  had  she  disliked  a  man  as  she  disliked  Constable 
Ryan.  She  just  naturally  could  not  like  a  man  who 
stayed  in  ambush  to  catch  unwary  motorists.  It  was 
a  contemptible  occupation  and  it  would  make  a  man 
contemptible.  No  wonder  Aunt  Martha  did  not  like 
him. 

"Under  those  circumstances,"  continued  the  youth- 
ful appearing  J.  P.,  "I  shall  fine  you  the  minimum  the 
law  allows." 

The  minimum.  Was  that  the  most  or  was  it  the 
least?  Aunt  Martha's  brain  was  a  merry-go-round. 

"And  that  is?"     Sallie  put  the  question  bravely. 

68 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"One  dollar,"  was  the  solemn  response. 

"A  dollar!"  Sallie  couldn't  believe  it.  Neither  could 
Aunt  Martha.  "As  much  as  that?"  Sallie  dimpled. 

"As  much  as  that,"  gravely  returned  the  J.  P.  "The 
constable  must  earn  his  wages  every  day."  And  then 
he  and  Sallie  laughed.  Even  the  constable  chortled, 
perhaps  because  he  had  earned  something  toward  his 
wages  that  day. 

It  was  a  merry  moment  for  everyone  but  Aunt  Mar- 
tha who  could  not  feel  merry  until  she  had  seen  Sallie 
take  the  roll  of  bills  from  her  pocket  and  carelessly  peel 
off  one.  The  J.  P.  opened  his  eyes  slightly  at  the  size 
of  the  roll,  glanced  at  the  bill  that  was  given  to  him 
and  sent  the  constable  out  for  change.  He  conversed 
pleasantly  with  Sallie  of  roads  and  cars,  and  Sallie, 
Aunt  Martha  could  not  understand  her,  actually  told 
him  how  her  car  had  grown  from  a  gallon  of  gasoline. 
Sallie  seemed  to  think  she  could  tell  anything  to  any- 
body. She  wouldn't  dream  of  talking  to  strangers  as 
Sallie  talked  to  them.  It — it  wasn't  proper.  She 
would  have  to  speak  to  Sallie  and  she  sighed.  She  real- 
ized how  useless  it  would  be  to  speak  to  Sallie.  But 
at  least  she  could  cough  and  remind  her  in  a  perfectly 
correct  manner  that  one  does  not  discuss  one's  personal 
affairs  with  people  one  does  not  know. 

Before  this  message  reached  Sallie's  heedless  ears  the 
constable  returned  and  the  J.  P.  reluctantly  counted 

69 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


a  ten  dollar  bill,  a  five  dollar  bill  and  four  silver  dollars 
into  Sallie's  brown  palm. 

"I  hope,"  his  voice  was  very  cordial,  "that  you  will 
come  this  way  again." 

"You  are  speaking,  of  course,  in  the  interest  of  the 
county  fund,"  Sallie  retorted  over  her  shoulder. 

"For  the  county  fund,"  he  assured  her  as  he  followed 
her  out  into  the  street.  He  helped  Aunt  Martha  into 
the  car  and  then  he  gave  a  hand  to  Sallie.  "Waloo," 
he  said,  apropos  of  nothing,  as  he  stood  with  his  hand 
on  the  mud  guard,  "is  quite  a  city." 

Aunt  Martha  sent  him  a  startled  glance.  Why 
should  he  speak  of  Waloo?  She  did  not  know  that 
license  tags  have  a  language  of  their  own  to  the  ini- 
tiated. 

"It  is,"  she  heard  her  niece  respond,  "rather  large." 

He  laughed.  "That  makes  it  more  interesting. 
Needles  have  been  found  in  hay  stacks." 

"Really."  Sallie's  cheeks  were  pink  as  well  as  brown. 
"I  wish  we  had  time  to  hear  that  story  but  my  aunt  is 
impatient  to  go  on.  You  are  impatient,  aren't  you, 
Aunt  Martha?"  solicitously. 

"I  am!"  Aunt  Martha  almost  snapped  the  word. 
She  was  so  impatient  that  she  was  quite  at  the  end  of 
her  patience. 

"You  see?"  Sallie  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Good- 
by." 

70 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Good-by."  The  J.  P.  said  it  most  reluctantly.  He 
removed  his  hand  from  the  mud  guard  and  the  car  went 
away  from  the  curb  at  a  snail's  pace. 

"Sallie  Waters  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Martha  in  a  choked 
voice.  She  wanted  to  tell  Sallie  to  take  her  home  at 
once,  back  to  Waloo,  but  she  had  not  the  breath  to 
say  it. 

"I  never  thought  I  would  like  a  man  with  a  dimple  in 
his  chin,"  Sallie  remarked  reflectively.  "But  he  was 
very  pleasant — for  a  J.  P. — don't  you  think  so?" 

Aunt  Martha  never  answered  her.  It  was  useless. 
It  was  far  better  to  sit  there  and  register  black  dis- 
approval than  to  voice  it  to  a  girl  as  light-minded  as 
Sallie  Waters.  But  Sallie  never  looked  at  the  register 
but  hummed  softly  as  she  sent  the  car  forward,  still  at 
a  snail's  pace. 

"We  must  not  take  any  more  chances,"  she  said  so 
contritely  that  Aunt  Martha  had  to  forgive  and  en- 
deavor to  forget. 

Many  times  Sallie  regretted  the  fact  that  she  had 
been  so  selfish  as  to  buy  a  roadster.  If  she  had  had  a 
larger  car  she  could  have  given  a  lift  to  the  people  they 
met.  As  it  was  she  would  take  up  the  children,  pack- 
ing them  around  Aunt  Martha's  protesting  ankles  and, 
if  they  were  accompanied  by  their  parents,  she  drove 
slowly  that  she  might  chatter  to  the  older  people  as 
well  as  the  youngsters.  If  the  kiddies  were  alone  she 

71 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


carried  them  swiftly  and  left  them  breathless  and  rosy 
with  the  remembrance  of  a  beautiful  fairy,  a  wicked 
witch  and  an  enchanted  chariot. 

In  spite  of  Aunt  Martha's  objections  she  insisted  on 
picking  up  a  gypsy  when  they  met  her  with  her  baby 
walking  in  the  rear  of  a  shabby  cart  driven  by  a  shabby 
man  and  filled  with  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  shabby 
things. 

"Oh,  the  darling  baby !"  Sallie  squealed  as  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  little  face  over  his  mother's  shoulder. 
"Don't  you  think  she  could  sit  at  your  feet,  Aunt  Mar- 
tha? She  must  be  tired  tramping."  And  before  Aunt 
Martha  could  say  what  she  thought  the  car  was  stopped 
and  the  gypsy  mother  was  seated  where  Sallie  had  said 
she  could  sit. 

"I  wish  you  could  run  the  car,  Aunt  Martha,"  Sallie 
said  eagerly.  "I'd  love  to  hold  that  baby.  Don't  you 
adore  them?" 

When  she  could  get  over  the  shock  from  the  thought 
of  running  the  car,  of  driving  sixty  horses  at  once, 
Madame  Cabot  managed  to  answer  stiffly  that  it  had 
been  so  long  since  she  had  had  anything  to  do  with 
babies  that  she  did  not  know  whether  she  did  or  not. 

"There  was  that  little  Joe  Cabot.  You  told  us  about 
him,"  reminded  Sallie. 

"That,"  Madame  Cabot  said  coldly,  "was  a  long  time 
ago." 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  let  it  be  so  long  between 
babies  with  me,"  Sallie  spoke  very  firmly.  "I'd  like  to 
go  to  the  orphan  asylum  tomorrow  and  adopt  a  couple. 
J  think  every  house  needs  them.  I  love  them !  I  don't 
care  whether  they  are  clean  or  dirty,  black  or  white. 
I'd  like  a  round  dozen  myself  this  minute.  The  cun- 
ning, cunning  little  thing!"  And  she  endangered 
all  of  their  lives  to  stoop  over  to  pat  the  down  on  the 
tiny  head. 

"Sallie!"  shrieked  her  frightened  aunt  as  the  car 
swerved. 

"Aunt  Martha,"  returned  Sallie,  smiling  into  the 
startled  eyes  of  the  gypsy  mother.  "I  shall  certainly 
teach  you  to  run  the  car.  Then  you  will  feel  like  a 
spangled  tighted  circus  rider.  Yes,  she  will,"  she  told 
the  baby.  "I  did,"  she  confided  to  her  speechless  aunt. 
"You  can't  drive  sixty  horses  at  once  without  feeling 
like  a  spangled  circus  rider." 

When  they  stopped  to  leave  the  gypsy  she  insisted  on 
showing  her  gratitude  by  telling  Sallie's  fortune. 
Madame  Cabot  condescended  to  display  a  slight  por- 
tion of  interest  in  what  was  found  in  the  brown  palm. 

It  was  a  happy  palm,  according  to  the  seer,  who 
hunched  her  baby  on  her  shoulder  until  Sallie,  as  a 
great  favor,  begged  to  be  allowed  to  hold  him.  There 
was  happiness  and  health  in  the  brown  palm,  there  were 
lovers  a-plenty.  She  showed  them,  one  after  the  other ; 

6  73 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


there  were  children,  she  counted  them  on  the  edge  below 
the  little  finger;  there  were  journeys  and  money — "The 
Cabot  fortune,"  giggled  Sallie.  There  was  everything 
a  girl  could  wish  in  a  future.  There  was  a  tall  man 
with  hair  and  eyes  as  black  as  night,  the  gypsy  looked 
at  Sallie's  blue-green  eyes  and  yellow  hair  and  nodded 
her  approval  of  the  combination.  He  was  waiting  for 
her  somewhere  and  waiting  also  was  a  man  with  hair 
no  darker  than  Sallie's  and  eyes  as  blue  as  the  sea. 
She  would  find  the  true  one,  but  first  there  was  mystery 
and  danger  and 

"Beware  of  yellow !"  she  begged  sharply. 

"Yellow,"  echoed  Sallie,  as  she  peered  into  her  palms 
as  if  to  read  the  message  for  herself. 

"Yellow,"  repeated  Aunt  Martha,  wondering  what 
the  gypsy  meant  and  thinking  what  nonsense  it  was, 
anyway. 

"Yellow!"  emphasized  the  gypsy  with  another  ad- 
miring glance  at  the  blue-green  eyes,  the  ridiculous  nose, 
the  curling  lips  that  composed  Sallie's  face.  "Of  yel- 
low!" She  caught  her  baby  from  Sallie's  reluctant 
arms  and  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

Sallie  turned  and  looked  at  her  aunt. 

"It  is  everything,  Aunt  Martha,"  she  said  gaily,  "to 
Icnow  the  danger  that  threatens  us.  We  have  nothing 
to  fear  but  a  color." 


CHAPTER    V 

THE  third  day  began  with  as  much  blue  and  gold 
as  its  two  preceding  sisters  but  by  noon  all 
of  the  gold  had  slipped  away  and  early  in 
the  afternoon  the  blue  followed  it.  All  the  life  and  color 
seemed  to  leave  the  world  with  it.  The  sky  was  gray 
and  growing  grayer.  The  fields  and  bluffs  which  had 
been  such  a  gay  pattern  of  reds  and  yellows  and  greens 
suffered  a  magical  change  to  dull  browns,  wines  and 
drabbled  russets. 

Sallie  eyed  the  broad  expanse  of  gray  sky  and 
thought  how  she  disliked  the  color;  it  was  neither  one 
thing  or  another.  It  really  was  not  a  pleasant  sky  for 
a  motorist,  a  feminine  motorist,  to  contemplate  when 
she  was  far  from  shelter  and  there  was  not  a  sign  of 
shelter  of  any  sort  to  be  seen  on  either  side  of  the 
road. 

"It  looks  as  if  it  would  rain,"  she  spoke  cheerily,  too 
cheerily. 

"It  looks  very  much  as  if  it  would  rain,"  Aunt  Mar- 

75 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


tha  agreed  grimly.  "We  had  better  stop  somewhere 
until  the  storm  is  over." 

"Where?"  Sallie  sat  as  if  only  waiting  for  Aunt 
Martha  to  designate  the  spot  to  stop  the  car  at  once,  but 
Aunt  Martha  kept  a  silence  as  grim  as  her  former 
speech  had  been.  Sallie  went  on  discontentedly:  "I 
never  saw  a  country  where  the  farm  houses  grew  so  far 
apart." 

They  did  seem  to  grow  far  apart  in  that  particular 
section.  The  sky  darkened;  there  was  an  occasional 
rumble  of  thunder.  When  there  had  been  two  sharp 
flashes  of  lightning  Sallie  stopped  the  car. 

"I  might  put  up  the  top,"  she  said.  "That  will  give 
us  some  protection." 

Aunt  Martha  said  never  a  word,  the  cat  must  have 
had  her  tongue  for  fair,  as  Sallie  worked  diligently  and 
skilfully.  She  made  the  top  secure,  raised  the  upper 
half  of  the  wind  shield  and  fastened  it,  saw  that  the 
trunk  was  tightly  strapped  and  returned  to  her  place 
feeling  that  she  had  done  what  she  could.  She  had  done 
it  none  too  soon,  for  the  big  drops  began  to  fall  almost 
immediately,  slowly  at  first  and  then  faster  and  faster. 

"We  are  in  for  it,"  murmured  Sallie,  and  she  looked 
despairingly  up  and  down  the  road  to  see  if  by  chance 
she  could  have  overlooked  a  house  or  a  barn. 

As  she  started  the  car  an  ominous  something  sent  a 
cold  chill  down  her  spine.  Had  the  gasoline  tank  been 

76 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


filled  that  morning  or  had  it  not  ?  It  should  have  been 
but  that  was  no  surety  that  it  had  been.  The  ominous 
something  that  is  often  called  instinct  told  her  that  it 
had  not  been.  A  car  cannot  run  without  gasoline. 
What  should  she  do  if  she  marooned  Aunt  Martha, 
Madame  Joshua  Cabot  of  Waloo,  in  a  roadster  on  a 
lonely  country  road  in  the  midst  of  a  driving  rain  that 
promised  to  be  the  worst  storm  of  the  season? 

She  stole  a  glance  at  Aunt  Martha.  A  yard  of  black 
crepe  could  not  have  expressed  more  woe  than  did  Aunt 
Martha's  face.  Sallie  cast  another  despairing  glance 
around  the  landscape.  Now  was  the  time  for  the  hero 
• — the  apple  man,  the  J.  P.,  even  the  constable  would 
serve — to  appear  and  rescue  them  but  there  was  no 
trace  of  any  man,  horticultural  or  legal,  before  or 
behind  her.  She  would  have  to  depend  upon  herself, 
she  thought  bitterly.  Romance  had  failed  her.  She 
might  have  known  it  would.  She  didn't  care  for  her- 
self but  Aunt  Martha 

She  stole  a  second  glance  at  Aunt  Martha  and  noted 
how  elevated  were  her  nostrils  and  eyebrows,  how  black 
her  frown  and  suddenly  she  laughed.  She  put  her  wet 
hand  on  Aunt  Martha's  black  kid  fingers. 

"There  is  one  thing  we  must  not  forget,"  she  said, 
Oh,  very  seriously.  "We  have  not  heard  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte's name  so  much  as  mentioned  since  we  left  Waloo. 
I  fancy  this  is  an  excellent  time  in  which  to  ponder 

77 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


upon  his  favorite  maxim — 'The  future  is  in  the  hand  of 
God.' '  And  she  giggled. 

Aunt  Martha's  lips  never  moved.  They  pressed  close 
together  in  a  grim  line.  The  situation  was  far  too  seri- 
ous for  laughter.  Sallie  wondered  fearfully  if  her  great- 
aunt  had  a  tendency  to  rheumatism  or  neuralgia  or  neu- 
ritis or  perhaps  to  all  three  and  what  she  would  do  if 
Aunt  Martha  should  develop  symptoms  of  one  or  all. 
Sallie  had  a  strong  feeling  that  Aunt  Martha  possessed 
little  Spartan  blood  and  would  never  hug  a  fox  until 
it  gnawed  her.  If  only  they  could  see  a  farm  house, 
she  didn't  care  how  humble  it  was.  It  is  one  thing 
to  motor  under  smiling  skies  and  over  smooth  roads 
but  it  is  a  vastly  different  thing  to  bump  over  ruts  and 
under  a  seemingly  endless  downpour.  Aunt  Martha 
recognized  the  difference ;  so,  alas,  did  Sallie. 

She  strained  her  eyes  as  she  guided  her  machine. 
There  was  no  temptation  to  speed.  At  each  bump 
Aunt  Martha  opened  her  lips  as  if  to  murmur  something 
and  then  closed  them  again  with  the  exclamation  shut 
inside.  She  made  Sallie  nervous. 

At  a  fork  in  the  road  she  turned  to  the  right  without 
hesitation.  Hadn't  she  been  taught  to  turn  to  the 
right  always?  She  did  it  now  with  a  feeling  of  resig- 
nation. She  had  done  what  she  could.  What  was  to 
be  would  be.  Kismet.  But  never  again,  no  matter  how 
long  she  lived,  would  she  kidnap  a  wealthy  great-aunt. 

78 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


She  took  the  vow  solemnly  and  then  gave  a  shriek  of 
joy  for,  before  them,  down  that  right-hand  road,  she 
glimpsed  a  building.  She  pointed  it  out  to  Aunt  Martha 
with  trembling  fingers  and,  regardless  of  ruts  and 
bumps,  increased  her  speed. 

It  was  a  low  rambling  building  that  she  saw.  In 
the  west  it  would  have  been  called  a  bungalow  and  in 
the  east  just  as  surely  would  it  have  been  named  a  cot- 
tage. Little  did  Sallie  Waters  care  about  its  species. 
All  she  wanted  was  to  reach  it  as  soon  as  possible.  At 
the  same  time  she  did  give  a  little  scream  when  she 
noticed  that  it  was  painted  yellow,  a  soft  creamy  tint,, 
trimmed  with  white,  but  yellow;  yellow  from  roof  to 
foundation.  Sallie  laughed  as  she  turned  sharply  into 
the  driveway. 

"We  have  met  the  enemy,  Aunt  Martha,"  she  mur- 
mured as  she  brought  her  machine  to  a  stop  before  the 
steps  to  the  porch  with  a  suddenness  that  caused  Aunt 
Martha  to  bump  her  head,  "and  it  is  ours — or  will  be 
directly.  Now  to  let  our  friends-to-be  know  that  we 
have  arrived."  She  jumped  out,  ran  up  the  steps  and 
rang  the  bell.  There  was  no  response.  She  knocked 
loudly.  There  was  no  response. 

Aunt  Martha  joined  her,  very  stiff  and  weary, 
and  while  one  rang  the  bell  the  other  knocked  on 
the  door.  The  silence  of  the  grave,  however,  remained 
unbroken. 

79 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"It  looks  very  much  to  me  as  if  there  was  no  one  at 
home.  We  shall  have  to  break  in." 

"Break  in !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Martha,  who  was  shiver- 
ing worse  than  any  aspen  ever  shivered.  She  was  cold 
and  wet  and  tired.  No  wonder  she  asked  herself  de- 
spairingly, if  it  was  to  be  her  awful  fate  to  be  arrested 
again.  She  would  never  survive  a  second  disgrace  she 
was  positive. 

Sallie  ran  along  the  broad  veranda  that  crossed  the 
front  of  the  cottage  and  tried  one  window  after  another. 
An  exclamation  told  Aunt  Martha  that  she  had  found 
one  unlocked. 

"There  always  is  one,"  Sallie  called  to  her  sagely. 
"Now,  if  there  isn't  a  dog  inside!  I've  always  felt  I 
should  hate  to  die  of  hydrophobia." 

With  that  she  disappeared  leaving  Aunt  Martha  in 
danger  of  a  collapse.  Suppose  there  should  be  a  dog  in- 
side, a  dog  that  would  bite  Sallie  and  Sallie  should  de- 
velop hydrophobia  and  no  help  within  miles  and  miles? 
Aunt  Martha  could  always  fear  the  worst.  She  had 
Sallie  dead  and  ready  for  burial  before  the  lock  clicked 
and  the  door  was  thrown  open.  It  opened  so  suddenly 
that  Aunt  Martha,  who  had  been  leaning  weakly  against 
it,  would  have  fallen  if  Sallie  had  not  caught  her. 

"Welcome  to  our  city !"  exclaimed  the  amateur  house- 
breaker hospitably.  "I've  made  noise  enough  to  rouse 
the  dead  without  rousing  anyone  so  I  fancy  we  have 

80 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  mansion  to  ourselves."  She  drew  her  speechless  rel- 
ative into  the  hall  that  ran  through  the  center  of  the 
house  and  on  into  the  big  living-room  that  formed  one 
side.  Even  in  the  dim  light  of  the  late  stormy  afternoon 
they  could  see  that  it  was  a  pleasant  room,  or  would  be 
a  pleasant  room  if  it  looked  as  if  anyone  lived  in  it. 
The  chairs  and  tables  were  pushed  against  the  wall  as 
if  to  get  them  out  of  the  way.  But  there  was  a  huge 
fireplace  with  wood  already  laid  for  a  fire.  Sallie  pulled 
a  big  armchair  in  front  of  it  for  her  aunt. 

"Having  broken  in  and  made  ourselves  liable  to  ar- 
rest we  might  as  well  go  as  far  as  we  like  and  be  com- 
fortable," she  said,  as  she  ran  her  fingers  over  the  mantel 
shelf.  "If  there  are  only  matches  here  we'll  soon  be 
dry,"  she  promised.  "Eureka!"  she  scratched  a  match 
and  touched  it  to  the  wood.  The  flame  caught  and 
spread  with  a  cheerful  crackle.  "You'll  soon  be  dry 
now,"  she  repeated  with  a  smile.  No  one  would  ever 
know  how  much  better  she  felt  to  have  Aunt  Martha 
under  cover. 

Aunt  Martha  shifted  her  chair  nearer  and  held  her 
trembling  hands  before  the  blaze.  "What  can  we  say 
to  the  owner?"  she  groaned. 

"Thank  you,  in  our  very  best  and  most  polite  man- 
ner," Sallie  told  her  promptly,  and  she  dropped  a  saucy 
curtsy  as  if  to  show  her  the  very  best  manner.  "You 
sit  there  and  get  dry — you're  not  awful-ly  wet,  are 

81 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


you?"  she  ran  her  fingers  solicitously  over  her  aunt's 
shoulders  and  down  her  arm  and  was  glad  to  find  them 
as  dry  as  they  were.  "I  am  going  to  see  if  by  chance 
there  is  anyone  in  the  place.  If  there  is  he  must  be 
made  of  mahogany  or  black  walnut.  No  post  could 
be  so  deaf  as  not  to  hear  us." 

"Oh,  Sallie,  don't  go!  don't  leave  me!"  whimpered 
Aunt  Martha,  clinging  to  her  hand.  She  could  not 
have  told  anyone  what  she  was  afraid  of,  she  only  knew 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  be  left  alone  in  this  strange  house 
late  on  a  stormy  afternoon. 

"Oh,  but  we  must  know  if  there  is  anyone  here." 
Sallie  patted  her  shoulder  soothingly.  "I'll  just  go 
to  the  door  and  look."  She  crossed  the  hall  and 
opened  a  door  on  the  other  side.  "The  dining-room 
and — empty,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder  and  disap- 
peared. 

Aunt  Martha  held  her  breath  and  counted  the  min- 
utes until  she  came  back. 

"There's  no  one  there  unless  someone  is  hiding  in 
the  cupboards  or  drawers,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "It 
seems  like  an  awful-ly  nice  cottage.  Now,  I'll  just  run 
upstairs.  We  can't  be  comfortable  until  we  know  for 
sure,  Aunt  Martha.  I  shan't  be  a  minute." 

Aunt  Martha's  heart  climbed  up  into  her  throat  as 
she  saw  Sallie  disappear  in  the  shadow  of  the  stairs.  She 
heard  her  run  along  the  hall  and  open  doors.  She  lis- 

82 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


tened  breathlessly.  She  was  so  relieved  that  she  almost 
fainted  when  Sallie  came  running  down  again. 

"No  one  there.  I  didn't  go  into  the  attic.  But 
there  is  no  one  in  the  rooms  above.  Four  bedrooms, 
Aunt  Martha,  all  comfortably  if  plainly  furnished." 
As  if  Aunt  Martha  cared  how  they  were  furnished. 
"They  don't  look  as  if  they  had  been  used  for  years." 
She  sat  down  beside  her  aunt  and  took  her  fingers  and 
rubbed  them  lightly  between  her  brown  palms.  "If 
there  is  only  food  in  the  pantry  we  needn't  care  how 
long  it  rains,"  she  said  with  much  satisfaction. 

"But  we  can't  stay  indefinitely,"  cried  Aunt  Martha, 
who  was  quite  comfortable  now  that  she  was  under  shel- 
ter and  dry  and  knew  there  was  nothing  to  fear. 

''We  can't  go  away  in  the  rain."  Sallie  never  said  a 
word  about  their  lack  of  gasoline.  It  was  not  neces- 
sary. There  were  other  things  to  talk  of  and  it  was 
ridiculous  to  cross  a  bridge  before  you  came  to  it. 
She  jumped  up  suddenly.  "I'll  bring  in  our  baggage. 
We'll  want  it  and  if  I  remember  rightly  there  were 
some  sandwiches  and  cold  chicken  in  the  lunch  basket. 
There  are  apples  I  know." 

Aunt  Martha  made  no  objection  now.  She  was  al- 
most asleep.  The  warmth  of  the  fire  and  her  peace  of 
mind  made  her  contented  and  drowsy  so  she  said  nothing 
as  Sallie  opened  the  door  and  went  out  into  the  wind 
and  rain  again.  It  was  dark  now.  There  was  no  light 

83 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


but  that  from  the  fire  which  flickered  through  the  rain- 
splashed  windows. 

Sallie  felt  her  way  to  the  rear  of  the  car  and  tugged 
at  the  straps  that  fastened  the  trunk.  The  door  slammed 
but  she  was  too  occupied  to  hear  it.  At  last  her  wet 
fingers  managed  to  unbuckle  the  straps  and  she  dragged 
the  trunk  up  the  steps  to  the  door  and  went  back  for  the 
lunch  basket.  Then  she  put  her  hand  on  the  doorknob. 
It  would  not  turn.  The  spring  lock  had  caught  and  the 
door  was  fast.  She  knocked  on  the  door  again  but 
there  was  no  response.  Aunt  Martha  must  have  fallen 
asleep  and  if  she  were  awakened  suddenly,  now  that  she 
was  alone,  she  would  think  of  burglars  and  have 
hysterics.  Sallie  did  not  wish  her  to  have  hysterics. 
She  wished  she  had  not  fastened  the  window 
through  which  she  had  made  her  entrance  before.  She 
wished  that  spring  locks  had  never  been  invented.  She 
was  sure  that  they  made  far  more  trouble  than  they 
were  worth.  She  shook  the  handle  again  and  called 
softly :  "Aunt  Martha !  Aunt  Martha !"  There  was  no 
reply.  She  tried  a  third  time. 

Then  she  heard  a  step  behind  her,  a  hand  touched 
her  shoulder  and  a  man's  voice  said  sharply : 

"Hullo!     Who's  here?" 


CHAPTER    VI 

SALLIE  would  have  been  frightened  to  death  if  the 
voice  had  not  been  such  a  pleasant  one.  As  it 
was  she  released  the  handle  to  which  she  had  been 
clinging,  as  to  a  life  preserver,  and  turned  around  to 
peer  at  the  stranger.  A  second  voice  sounded  out  of  the 
darkness. 

"Damn !"  The  emphatic  exclamation  was  proof  that 
the  owner  of  the  voice  had  met  Blue  Bird  and  she  was 
sorry.  She  should  not  have  left  the  car  directly  in 
front  of  the  steps.  "What's  the  matter,  old  man?"  the 
voice  went  on.  "I  beg  you  pardon."  The  irritation 
that  had  been  so  very  plain  in  the  first  word  disappeared 
to  make  room  for  amusement  in  the  second  sentence. 
Plainly  the  man  had  not  expected  to  see  a  strange  girl 
there  on  the  porch. 

"I— I  can't  open  the  door,"  stuttered  Sallie.  "The 
wind  blew  it  shut  and  I  can't  open  it." 

"Let  me."  The  possessor  of  the  first  voice  put  his 
hand  on  the  knob  she  had  clutched  again.  He  touched 

85 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


her  fingers  and  she  snatched  them  away  hurriedly.  She 
had  a  smothered  sensation  in  place  of  a  heart  and  it 
did  not  serve  as  a  good  substitute.  "There  isn't  a  lock 
in  the  world  that  I  can't  pick,"  boasted  the  stranger, 
after  a  second. 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  you  can  pick  this  one,"  shivered  Sal- 
lie,  wondering  if  he  was  half  as  clever  as  he  said  he 
was. 

"I  can!"  There  was  no  lack  of  confidence  in  his 
voice. 

A  moment  later  and  the  unmannerly  door  flew  open. 
Sallie  stumbled  slightly  as  she  exchanged  the  stormy 
darkness  without  for  the  glare  of  the  fire  light.  The 
two  men  followed  her. 

"Well,  for  the  love  of  Mike!"  they  murmured  in 
unison  as  they  really  saw  Sallie  Waters,  her  yellow  hair 
blown  by  the  wind,  her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  like  Christ- 
mas candles  and  then  Aunt  Martha,  fast  asleep  before 
the  crackling  fire.  Even  asleep  Aunt  Martha  looked 
like  a  dowager  duchess.  The  two  men  stared  at  the 
two  women  and  then  at  each  other  and,  as  if  moved  by  a 
single  string,  their  two  heads  were  shaken  warningly. 

Sallie  did  not  see  the  little  pantomine.  She  had 
crossed  to  Aunt  Martha.  For  some  reason  she  wished 
to  make  sure  that  she  was  chaperoned. 

Aunt  Martha  opened  her  sleepy  eyes  and  sat  up  with 
a  start.  Was  she  dreaming?  Were  there  really  two 

86 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


men,  two  strange  men,  in  the  room  with  them?  Where 
had  they  come  from,  she  wanted  to  know,  and  why? 
Her  face  paled  and  she  caught  Sallie's  trembling  fin- 
gers and  held  them  shakingly.  She  wished,  Oh,  how 
fervently  she  wished,  that  she  was  back  in  Waloo. 

The  men  had  gone  back  to  the  hall  and  were  shaking 
their  coats  and  caps.  Sallie  watched  them  curiously 
through  the  open  door.  They  were  both  rather  over 
than  under  the  average  height,  well  built  and  with  the 
blue  eyes  and  brown  hair  that  are  given  to  the  great 
majority  of  men  and  women.  The  one  whose  hair  was 
the  lightest  brown  and  who  had  the  bluest  eyes  had 
features  as  regular  and  clean  cut  as  if  done  by  a  master 
sculptor  while  the  other,  whose  hair  was  darker  and 
whose  eyes  had  a  gray  glint,  had  a  big  nose,  a  mouth 
to  match  and  a  chin  that  was  more  noticeable  for  firm- 
ness than  for  beauty.  Sallie  could  think  of  nothing  but 
Prench  verbs  as  she  watched  them,  of  both  the  regular 
and  the  irregular  verbs. 

She  could  hear  the  low  murmur  of  their  voices.  There 
was  nothing  menacing  in  the  murmur  and  Sallie  gath- 
ered her  usual  confidence. 

"The  owner,"  she  suggested  to  Aunt  Martha. 

That  sounded  very  probable  to  Aunt  Martha  and 
she  was  ready  with  a  word  of  apology  for  their  intru- 
sion but  the  irregularly-featured  young  man  spoke 
-first. 

87 


Up  tJie  Road  with  Sallie 


"I  hope  we  didn't  waken  you,"  he  began  pleasantly. 

"I  wasn't  asleep."  Aunt  Martha  lied  unconsciously. 
She  was  positive  that  she  had  not  closed  her  eyes. 

Sallie  smiled.  So  did  the  two  men,  the  regular  and 
the  irregular  one. 

"It  is  a  very  disagreeable  night,"  the  former,  re- 
marked. "Your  fire  looks  very  cheery,  Mrs. — "  he 
paused  expectantly. 

"Smith,"  Sallie  told  him  promptly,  while  Aunt  Mar- 
tha stared  at  her.  Now,  why  did  Sallie  say  again  that 
her  name  was  Smith?  "Mrs.  Martha  Smith  and  I'm — 
I'm  Sallie  Smith." 

"In-deed."  It  was  the  irregular  man  now  and  he 
smiled.  He  had  a  jolly  smile,  Sallie  thought,  and  he 
looked  rather  jolly,  too.  "I'm  Smith,  too,  Smith 
Jones."  Sallie  giggled  and  wondered  what  his  name 
really  was ;  not  that  it  mattered  and  Smith  Jones  was 
an  amusing  alias.  "My  friend,"  he  waved  his  hand 
toward  him  and  chuckled,  "is  Johnson,  John  Johnson." 

"In-deed,"  murmured  Sallie  in  her  turn.  Now  that 
she  knew  their  names  as  well  as  if  she  had  been  formally 
introduced  she  ventured  to  leave  the  neighborhood  of 
Aunt  Martha  and  find  a  low  chair  for  herself  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fire  where  the  light  played  in  a  most 
distracting  fashion  on  her  face  and  hair.  "I  suppose 
you  were  caught  by  the  storm,  too?"  She  would  take 
it  for  granted  that  they  were.  It  would  be  more  amus- 

88 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ing  than  to  ask  outright  if  they  lived  there.  "I  don't 
know  what  we  should  have  done  if  we  hadn't  found  this 
cottage." 

"Then  you  don't  live  here?"  smilingly  asked  Mr. 
Johnson. 

Then  they  didn't  either.  "No,"  she  admitted.  "We 
live,"  on  second  thoughts  which  are  generally  recom- 
mended as  the  best,  she  decided  not  to  tell  them  the 
name  of  the  town  in  which  she  did  live  and  they  noticed 
her  hesitation  before  she  went  on,  "miles  and  miles  from 
here.  We  were  motoring,"  she  said  in  an  enchantingly 
confidential  manner.  "That's  my  machine  at  the  door. 
You  must  have  seen  it?" 

They  nodded  and  Mr.  Johnson  added  feelingly  that 
he  had  felt  it  as  well  as  seen  it. 

"I've  driven  it  for  two  months,"  Sallie  went  on  proud- 
ly, "and  I  haven't  had  a  puncture  yet.  Dick  prophesied 
that  I  would  have  all  kinds  of  trouble  but  I  haven't. 
You  know,"  she  said,  "that  car  grew  from  a  gallon  of 
gasoline,  didn't  it,  Aunt  Martha?" 

"That  is  immaterial."  Aunt  Martha  spoke  loftily. 
As  she  did  not  approve  of  Sallie's  conversation  she  sub- 
stituted a  subject  of  her  own.  "Do  you  live  in  the 
neighborhood?  Perhaps  you  can  tell  us  how  far  we  are 
from  a  town?" 

"We're  traveling,  also,"  Smith  Jones  broke  in  hur- 
riedly. "In  a  motor  boat  instead  of  a  car." 

7  89 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Motor  boat,"  echoed  Sallie.  She  seemed  perfectly 
delighted  to  hear  the  method  of  their  locomotion  as  in- 
deed she  was.  Motor  boats,  like  motor  cars,  travel  on 
the  gasoline  that  is  in  their  tanks  and  gasoline  can  be 
bought,  borrowed  or  made  a  free  gift.  Sallie  knew  then 
that  she  and  Aunt  Martha  would  not  have  to  remain  in 
this  cottage  for  the  remainder  of  their  days. 

"Motor  boat,"  repeated  Smith  Jones  again,  as  she 
seemed  to  like  to  hear  the  words.  "We  caught  the  flare 
of  your  fire  and  put  in  to  beg  for  shelter.  Is  there  no 
one  in  the  house?"  And  he  frowned  as  if  he  thought 
there  should  be. 

At  that  exact  moment  Aunt  Martha  remembered  the 
roll  of  bills  in  Sallie's  pocket  and  turned  pale.  She  did 
not  like  to  think  of  them.  She  tried  to  signal  but  Mr. 
Johnson  caught  the  message  instead.  Sallie  was  ad- 
mitting that  there  was  no  one  on  the  first  or  second 
floor.  She  had  looked. 

"I  didn't  go  down  to  the  cellar  nor  up  to  the  attic," 
she  added  while  Aunt  Martha  shook  in  her  shoes  and 
thought  that  very  probably  they  were  as  good  as  mur- 
dered in  their  beds.  And  then  she  looked  at  the  pleas- 
ant faces  of  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  and  was 
ashamed  of  herself.  They  looked  no  more  like  mur- 
derers than  did  her  own  nephews. 

Smith  Jones  lifted  himself  reluctantly  from  the  big 
chair.  "Come  on,  John,"  he  said.  "We'll  inspect  the 

90 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallle 


upper  and  lower  regions.  It's  very  strange  that  there 
is  no  one  here,"  and  he  frowned  again.  "There  should 
be  a  caretaker,  shouldn't  there?"  He  put  the  question 
rather  stammeringly.  "People  don't  go  away  and  close 
a  place  like  this,  do  they  ?"  He  looked  directly  at  Aunt 
Martha. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  truthfully. 

When  the  two  men  had  crossed  the  hall  she  caught 
Sallie  by  the  shoulder. 

"Sallie !  Sallie  Waters !"  she  began  in  a  trembling 
whisper. 

"Yes."  Sallie  slipped  an  arm  around  her  waist.  "I 
do  hope  you  haven't  caught  cold,  Aunt  Martha.  What 
do  you  do  for  rheumatism?" 

"I  don't  hare  rheumatism!"  Aunt  Martha  spoke 
rather  tartly.  She  resented  the  insinuation. 

"You  don't!"  Sallie  was  astonished.  "I  thought 
everyone  had  rheumatism  the  minute  they  were  over 
fifty.  I  fancied  it  was  a  birthday  present  that  old 
Father  Time  gave  them.  I  am  glad.  I  have  been 
frightened  to  death  for  the  last  three  hours  for  fear 
you'd  have  inflammatory — is  that  the  worst  kind? — 
rheumatism  and  nobody  knows  how  many  miles  we  are 
from  a  doctor."  She  picked  up  a  newspaper  that  had 
fallen  from  the  pocket  of  Smith  Jones'  coat.  "The 
Waloo  Gazette!"  she  cried.  "Now,  Aunt  Martha,  we'll 
learn  the  latest  news  from  home."  She  unfolded  the 

91 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


paper  and  waved  it  before  her  aunt.  "Rose  has  chosen 
her  wedding  day,"  she  said  after  a  glance  at  the  page. 
"Didn't  I  tell  you?  October  the  twenty-fourth.  That's 
a  little  over  a  month.  We'll  have  to  be  back  by  then. 
She  is  going  to  have  me  for  her  maid  of  honor,"  with  a 
grimace.  "Listen : 

"Miss  Sarah  Waters  will  be  the  maid  of  honor. 
Miss  Waters,  who  is  also  a  niece  of  Madame 
Joshua  Cabot,  returned  early  in  June  from  France 
where  she  has  been  at  a  convent  school  in  Tours 
for  three  years.  She  will  be  one  of  the  debutantes 
of  the  coming  season  and  her  first  formal  appear- 
ance in  society  will  be  at  Miss  Cabot's  wedding. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Madame  Ca-Smith?" 
she  corrected  herself  hurriedly  as  she  heard  footsteps. 
She  turned  the  paper  and  a  headline  on  the  front  page 
caught  her  eyes  and  held  them. 

She  had  no  attention  to  give  to  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  when  they  came  back.  She  was  too  busy 
reading  about  the  burglary  of  the  Cabot  mansion  on 
Oak  avenue.  Jewelry  of  great  value,  silver  and  money 
had  been  taken.  The  Corot,  that  Judge  Cabot  had 
picked  up  in  a  French  junk  shop,  had  been  cut  from  its 
frame. 

In  the  absence  of  the  immediate  family  it  has 
been  impossible  to  learn  the  exact  value  of  the 
loss.  Madame  Cabot,  the  widow  of  the  late  great 

98 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


jurist,  is  out  of  the  city  and  Henry  Judkins,  the 
butler,  refused  to  make  any  statement.  There  was 
no  clue  to  the  thieves  but  the  police  have  informa- 
tion that  Gentleman  Jones,  one  of  the  cleverest 
crooks  in  the  country,  was  seen  in  Waloo  with  a 
friend,  earlier  in  the  week.  It  is  supposed  that 
they  had  a  hand  in  the  robbery. 

A  description  of  Gentleman  Jones  that  sounded  like 
the  description  of  the  very  glass  of  fashion,  followed. 

Sallie  read  it  with  eagerness  and  also  with  horror. 
There  was  the  story  of  another  burglary  in  the  Gazette 
also  but  she  never  noticed  that;  she  had  such  a  heavy 
feeling  of  responsibility.  She  supposed  it  was  all  her 
fault.  If  she  had  not  carried  off  Aunt  Martha  it  would 
not  have  happened  and  then  she  had  another  thought 
that  lifted  the  gloom  that  had  enveloped  her.  If  she 
hadn't  carried  Aunt  Martha  off  Aunt  Martha  would 
undoubtedly  have  been  frightened  to  death  by  the  bur- 
glars so  that  in  reality  she  had  saved  her  aunt's  life  and 
was  deserving  of  praise  instead  of  blame.  At  the  same 
time  she  did  not  wish  Aunt  Martha  to  know  what  had 
happened,  not  tonight,  anyway.  It  would  be  better  to 
wait  until  they  had  actually  turned  their  faces  toward 
Waloo  again.  The  very  first  thing  in  the  morning  she 
would  beg  a  little  gasoline  from  Mr.  Jones  or  Mr.  John- 
son and  start  back  home  with  her  aunt  and  on  the  way 
she  would  tell  her  what  had  happened.  That  was  what 
she  would  do.  And  in  the  meantime — she  walked  over 

93 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


to  the  fireplace  and  dropped  the  Waloo  Gazette  into 
the  heart  of  the  blaze. 

"Sallie !"  cried  her  aunt. 

Sallie  turned  with  a  very  good  imitation  of  dismay 
on  her  face.  "Oh,  Aunt  Martha !  I  never  thought.  Did 
you  wish  to  read  it?  The  fire  seemed  a  little  low.  I've 
burned  your  paper,"  she  confessed  at  once  to  Smith 
Jones.  "I  dropped  it  into  the  fire." 

"Did  you?"  Smith  Jones  did  not  seem  at  all  annoyed. 
Indeed,  Sallie  almost  thought  he  was  pleased.  "Well, 
I  have  read  it  and  so  has  John,  haven't  you,  John  ?" 

"And  so  had  I,"  Sallie  said  after  Mr.  Johnson  had 
nodded  his  sleek  brown  head.  "But  Aunt  Martha," 
she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  changed  the  subject. 

"Did  you  find  anyone  in  the  cellar?" 

"No  one,"  answered  Mr.  Johnson. 

"Nor  in  the  attic?" 

"Absolutely  no  one,"  responded  Mr.  Jones.  "But 
we  found  plenty  of  food  in  the  pantry  and  wood  in  the 
shed  so  we  are  all  right." 

Both  men  wondered  what  had  happened  in  their  ab- 
sence to  send  the  sunshine  from  Sallie's  face.  They 
blamed  the  shadows  on  Aunt  Martha.  They  did  hope 
that  she  was  not  going  to  make  herself  disagreeable. 

"Won't  you  take  off  your  coat,  Miss — er — Smith?" 
suggested  Smith  Jones.  "You  can't  get  away  to- 
night so  you  might  as  well  make  yourself  comfortable. 

91 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


It's  quite  damp."  He  touched  the  corduroy  sleeve. 
"Take  it  off  and  avoid  rheumatism." 

"Yes,  I  should  hate  to  have  rheumatism."  She  an- 
swered absently  and  she  let  him  help  her  off  with  the 
coat.  A  roll  of  bills  dropped  from  her  pocket  and  he 
stooped  to  pick  it  up. 

Aunt  Martha's  heart  stopped  beating  altogether. 
Here  was  the  end.  Well,  better  now  than  later.  She 
half  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  horrid  scene 
that  was  sure  to  follow  but  she  opened  them  again  as 
she  heard  Sallie  murmur:  "Thank  you."  Surely  the 
man  hadn't  given  the  money  back.  If  he  had — if  he 
had,  it  would  be  to  take  it  later,  she  thought  fearfully. 

Not  by  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash  did  Smith  Jones 
show  any  surprise  at  picking  from  the  floor  a  roll  of 
bills  as  large  as  his  wrist.  You  would  have  thought  it 
was  an  every  day  occurrence  with  him,  that  the  proper 
way  for  a  girl  to  carry  her  traveling  funds  was  loose 
in  her  pocket.  With  as  careless  a  manner  Sallie  stuffed 
the  bills  in  the  pocket  of  her  skirt. 

"I  am  glad  there  is  something  to  eat,"  she  said  and 
she  deliberately  and  firmly  threw  aside  the  black  cloud 
that  had  descended  upon  her.  What  was  done  was  done. 
She  was  awfully  sorry  but  to  mope  wouldn't  restore 
the  valuable  jewelry,  the  silver  nor  the  bargain  Corot. 
To  mope  would  only  make  Aunt  Martha  suspicious  and 
she  did  not  wish  to  do  that.  She  wanted  to  amuse  her. 

95 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


That  was  why  she  had  kidnapped  her.  So  she  smiled 
at  Aunt  Martha  and  at  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson 
and  told  them  how  glad  she  was  that  there  was  plenty 
of  food  in  the  house.  "I'm  starving  this  minute." 

"So  am  I,"  echoed  John  Johnson. 

"How  about  you,  Mrs.  Smith?"  Smith  Jones  turned 
courteously  to  Aunt  Martha,  who  was  sitting  like  an 
early  Christian  martyr,  straight  and  stiff. 

When  she  realized  that  he  meant  her  when  he  said 
Mrs.  Smith  she  colored  painfully  and  admitted  that  she 
was  hungry  also. 

"Then  I  suggest  that  Miss  Smith  and  I  get  the  sup- 
per and  Johnson,  you  look  after  Mrs.  Smith  and  the 
fire."  Smith  Jones  quickly  apportioned  the  tasks." 
"You  can  cook?"  he  asked  Miss  Smith. 

"Cook!"  She  tilted  her  nose.  "I  can  make  an  ome- 
let that  is  better  than  any  Mere  Poulard  ever  made," 
she  boasted. 

"Mere  Poulard?"  repeated  Smith  Jones,  with  an  odd 
intonation  that  made  Sallie  blush  furiously  and  bite  her 
tongue. 

What  on  earth  had  possessed  her  to  mention  Mere 
Poulard?  Why,  Mere  Poulard  of  Saint  Michael  and  her 
omelets  were  as  well  known  as  London  and  the  Cheshire 
Cheese.  Chains  are  composed  of  links  and  she  had  no 
intention  of  giving  these  strange  young  men  any  link 
that  would  enable  them  to  make  up  the  chain  of  her  real 

96 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


identity.  Aunt  Martha  would  not  wish  her  too.  She 
did  not  care  herself  but  Aunt  Martha  had  an  odd  little 
quirk  in  her  mind  that  made  her  wish  to  hide  the  fact 
that  she  was  Madame  Joshua  Cabot  when  she  was  dis- 
covered in  unusual  situations.  She  did  not  seem  to  care 
to  have  it  known  that  she  was  taking  a  motor  trip  up 
the  Mississippi  Valley  with  no  company  but  her  niece. 
Sallie  owed  it  to  Aunt  Martha  to  consider  her  wishes. 
Mysteries  have  been  solved  with  no  more  material  than 
the  slip  of  her  tongue  had  furnished  and  she  vowed  that 
she  would  not  make  another  as  she  went  into  the  kitchen 
where  Smith  Jones  lighted  the  lamps.  He  opened  the 
door  to  get  wood  for  the  kitchen  stove.  A  small  black 
object  dashed  by  him  to  Sallie  and  whimpered  at  her 
ankles. 

"Why  the  poor  little  pussy  cat."  She  lifted  the  shiv- 
ering bunch  of  fur  in  her  arms.  "Was  it  frightened  to 
death  by  the  big  strange  man?"  She  cuddled  the  black 
head  to  her  yellow  one  and  made  a  picture  that  caused 
Smith  Jones  to  drop  the  wood  with  a  clatter.  Sallie's 
eyes  were  stormy.  "I  have  my  opinion  of  people  who 
will  shut  up  a  house  and  go  away  and  leave  a  darling 
cat  like  this  to  starve!" 

"No  one  would  do  such  a  thing  deliberately,"  Smith 
Jones  kindly  suggested  but  Sallie  would  not  listen  to 
him. 

She  carried  the  kitten  to  the  living-room  where  John 

97 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Johnson  had  a  chance  to  admire  the  composition  of  a 
coal-black  cat  against  a  yellow  head. 

Aunt  Martha  looked  up  and  her  eyes  brightened. 
"Let  me  have  it,  Sallie."  And  when  Sallie  had  placed 
the  kitten  on  her  knee  she  smoothed  the  black  fur  for  a 
moment  before  she  said:  "I  haven't  had  a  kitten  since 
I  was  married.  Your  uncle,"  she  looked  at  Sallie, 
"didn't  like  cats.  Napoleon  Bonaparte,"  absently, 
"hated  them." 

"So  did  Wellington,"  Smith  Jones  told  her  from  the 
doorway. 

"Your  uncle  didn't  like  them,"  Aunt  Martha  told 
Sallie  again. 

"I  know,"  she  nodded,  "he  preferred  gold  fish.  They 
are  the  perfect  pets,"  she  told  Smith  Jones  as  she  went 
back  to  the  kitchen  and  she  explained  why  as  he  made 
the  fire. 

He  listened  absently  until  the  wood  caught  and  then 
he  went  closer  to  her. 

"Who  was  Mere  Poulard?"  he  asked  softly. 

Sallie  caught  her  breath  and  dropped  the  can  of  cof- 
fee she  had  taken  from  a  shelf.  Fortunately  the  cover 
was  on  and  remained  on.  Smith  Jones  replaced  it  on 
the  table  and  waited  politely  for  an  answer  to  his  ques- 
tion. 

"Mere  Poulard,"  repeated  Sallie,  frowning  as  she 
opened  a  drawer  in  the  table  and  looked  at  the  knives 

98 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


and  spoons.  "Mere  Poulard  was  a  Frenchwoman  who 
taught  me  how  to  make  an  omelet." 

"Ah,"  remarked  Smith  Jones.  "Oh."  And  he 
laughed  and  Sallie  laughed,  also. 

He  swung  himself  on  the  kitchen  table  and  thanked 
his  lucky  stars  that  he  was  helping  Sallie  in  the  kitchen 
instead  of  making  laborious  conversation  with  Aunt 
Martha  in  the  living-room.  "I  say,"  he  said  suddenly 
and  Sallie's  heart  gave  an  extra  beat  as  she  waited  to 
hear  what  he  would  say.  "Don't  you  like  rain  and 
thunder  and  lightning?  This  is  downright  jolly."  He 
jumped  from  the  table  and  joined  her  in  a  survey  of 
the  pantry  shelves.  "What  are  we  going  to  have  for 
supper?" 

It  was  he  who  found  the  bread  box  and  who  knew  a 
cooky  jar  when  he  saw  one.  He  shouted  joyfully  when 
he  discovered  that  both  were  full. 

"The  woman  who  made  these,"  he  said,  sagely,  "left 
this  house  less  than  twenty-four  hours  ago." 

He  offered  Sallie  a  cooky  and  took  one  himself  and 
they  stood  there  munching  them,  well  pleased  with  the 
prospect.  With  fresh  bread,  cake,  eggs,  milk  in  sealed 
tins  and  in  open  pans,  with  hams  and  bacon  hanging 
from  the  hooks,  with  all  sorts  of  canned  goods,  pre- 
serves and  pickles  on  the  shelves  it  would  be  their  own 
fault  if  they  went  hungry. 

Smith  Jones  finished  his  cooky  and  drew  out  his  hand- 

99 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


kerchief  to  dust  his  fingers.  A  hasty  movement  pulled 
a  ring  from  his  finger.  It  dropped  with  a  thud  an  inch 
from  Sallie's  fingers.  She  picked  it  up  to  hand  it  to 
him  but  when  she  saw  what  it  was,  a  seal  ring  with  a 
crest  carved  on  it,  she  looked  closer  for  she  thought  she 
knew  that  crest. 

"Why — why!"  she  stammered  for  she  did  know  it. 
She  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the  Cabot  crest.  The  ring 
was  the  very  ring  she  had  seen  on  her  Uncle  Joshua's 
little  finger  whenever  she  had  seen  his  little  finger.  Oh, 
she  was  positive.  And  if  it  was  Uncle  Joshua's  seal 
ring,  as  she  was  sure  it  was,  what  was  it  doing  on  the 
finger  of  Smith  Jones?  And  then  she  remembered  the 
story  she  had  read  in  the  Waloo  Gazette — "valuable 
jewelry"  had  been  taken.  But  Smith  Jones  could  not 
have  taken  it.  He  was  not  a  thief.  He  did  not  look 
like  a  thief.  But  he  had  said  that  he  could  pick  any 
lock  that  had  ever  been  made.  Only  a  thief  would  learn 
how  to  pick  locks.  And,  yes,  the  description  of  Gentle- 
man Jones  why — why  it  fitted  Smith  Jones  perfectly. 
Her  head  was  in  a  whirl  as  she  tried  to  think  it  out. 

Smith  Jones  had  gone  back  to  look  after  his  fire  and 
she  was  glad  to  be  alone  in  the  pantry.  If  he  was  a 
thief,  but  he  couldn't  be,  he  and  his  accomplice — John 
Johnson,  of  course ! — must  have  escaped  from  Waloo  in 
the  motor  boat.  What  stupendous  luck  for  her  to  have 
run  across  them  in  this  deserted  cottage. 

100 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Not  for  a  moment  did  she  have  any  doubt  of  her  duty 
and  not  for  a  moment  did  she  have  any  doubt  of  her 
ability  to  do  it.  A  college  diploma,  with  the  additional 
frills  of  A.  M.  or  even  a  Ph.  D.  could  not  have  made 
her  feel  more  in  command  of  the  situation.  Her  method 
would  not  be  as  direct  as  that  of  Hilda  Mercer,  who, 
not  a  month  before,  had  been  wakened  to  find  a  man  at 
her  dresser  looking  for  her  jewelry.  It  might  have  been 
her  training  as  captain  of  the  junior  basket  ball  team 
that  enabled  Hilda  to  entice  the  man  into  the  closet  and 
lock  him  up  while  she  telephoned  for  the  police.  Sallie 
could  not  do  that.  It  was  not  subtle  enough.  She  was 
not  sure  that  she  liked  the  new  methods  but  there  was 
an  old  rule,  one  that  had  stood  the  test  of  centuries.  It 
had  been  tried  by  countless  generations  of  women.  The 
vine  one.  She  understood  that.  And  if  she  knew  any- 
thing of  men  and  she  thought  she  knew  quite  a  bit,  it 
would  be  most  effective  with  these  two  men.  They  had 
the  protecting  masculine  air  and  she  would  let  them  pro- 
tect her  and  Aunt  Martha.  If  she  locked  Smith  Jones 
and  John  Johnson  in  a  closet,  which  would  be  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  do,  why  Aunt  Martha  would  have 
to  know  and  she  would  be  sure  to  be  nervous  for  no  one 
knew  how  many  miles  they  were  from  a  policeman.  No, 
she  would  make  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  feel  re- 
sponsible for  their  safety,  she  would  place  herself  and 
Aunt  Martha  under  their  protection.  She  had  to  ad- 

101 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


mit  that  she  felt  a  trifle  nervous,  she  had  never  met  a 
thief  before,  when  Smith  Jones  came  back  to  the  pantry. 
But  when  she  looked  at  him  she  found  that  she  was  not 
afraid  of  him  at  all.  That  helped  enormously. 

"That's  an  odd  ring."  She  was  proud  to  hear  how 
firm  her  voice  was. 

He  took  the  ring  from  her  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
"It's  too  big  for  me,"  he  said  and  she  was  positive  that 
he  was  embarrassed.  "It  is  always  falling  off  my  finger. 
But  the  subject  under  discussion  is  not  rings  but  sup- 
per." 

His  gray-blue  eyes  looked  deep  into  her  blue-green 
eyes  and  held  them  for  sixty  seconds.  Sallie  felt  under 
a  spell.  She  could  not  think  clearly  while  he  looked  at 
her  like  that  and  she  moved  away.  She  was  not  so  sure 
now  that  he  was  Gentleman  Jones,  who  the  Waloo 
police  were  positive  had  robbed  the  Cabot  mansion. 
Why  he  looked  as  well-bred — he  was  as  well-bred — 
and  as  well  born  and  as  well  educated,  Oh,  she 
was  sure  he  did,  as  any  man  she  had  ever  met  in 
Europe  or  America.  But  she  had  heard  and  read  of 
men  as  polished  and  cultured  as  Smith  Jones  appeared 
to  be,  men  in  the  most  exclusive  circles,  who  eked  out 
their  scanty  incomes  by  stealing  jewels  from  their 
friends.  Smith  Jones  couldn't  have  obtained  Uncle 
Joshua's  seal  ring  unless  he  had  stolen  it.  No,  the 
thing  was  as  clear  as  the  best  French  glass  and  she 

102 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


would  have  to  trust  to  his  chivalry  to  return  the  jew- 
elry, the  silver  and  the  Corot  to  her  aunt.  Her  face 
was  very  wistful  as  she  cut  bread  and  when  she  had 
sighed  three  times  Smith  Jones  crossed  the  big  kitchen 
and  stood  beside  her. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  kindly.  "Anything 
I  can  do?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  sighed  a  fourth  time.  Then 
seemingly  she  took  a  sudden  determination  and  lifted 
her  eyes  to  his.  If  there  was  a  frightened  gleam  in 
their  blue-green  depths  it  was  not  surprising. 

"I  wonder  if  you  could,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 
"Oh,  perhaps  Providence  sent  you  to  meet  us  here!  I 
need  help — Aunt  Martha  and  I  are  all  alone" 

"Yes,"  Smith  Jones  spoke  eagerly  as  she  hesitated. 
He  wanted  to  help.  Good  Lord!  how  he  wanted  to 
help.  "Tell  me?" 

She  looked  comforted  by  his  kindness  but  she  shook 
her  head.  "Not  now.  We  must  get  supper  now.  But 
later — in  the  morning.  But  will  you  be  here  in  the 
morning?"  She  caught  her  breath  again  and  looked  so 
helpless  and  childish  that  Smith  Jones  said  eagerly  that 
he  would  be  there  as  long  as  he  could  serve  her. 

"That's  a  promise?"    Sallie  let  her  voice  shake. 

"It's  a  promise."    He  held  out  his  hand. 

She  gave  him  five  of  her  fingers  and  as  she  felt  the 
frank  warm  clasp  with  which  he  took  them  her  con- 

103 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


science  stung  her.  If  he  was  a  thief  she  was  deceiving 
him,  if  he  wasn't  she  was  cheating  him.  She  did  not 
feel  very  proud  of  herself  as  she  began  to  break  the 
eggs  for  the  omelet  that  was  to  rival  any  Mere  Poulard 
ever  made. 

From  the  stove  where  Smith  Jones  was  making  toast 
he  watched  her  curiously.  What  was  the  trouble? 
What  could  be  bothering  a  girl  like  that? 

In  the  other  room  John  Johnson  was  finding  conversa- 
tion with  Aunt  Martha  rather  uphill  work.  Aunt  Mar- 
tha seemed  to  prefer  to  stroke  the  cat  which  stretched 
itself  so  contentedly  on  her  black  serge  knee.  She 
seemed  absolutely  indifferent  to  his  prophecies  in  regard 
to  the  weather ;  she  did  not  seem  to  listen  as  he  told  her 
in  detail  of  the  journey  he  and  Smith  Jones  had  made 
in  the  motor  boat.  There  was  something  boyish  and 
ingenious  about  him  however,  and  about  his  recital  and 
gradually  Aunt  Martha  thawed  and  robbed  the  kitten 
of  a  portion  of  her  attention  to  give  to  him.  She  could 
not  be  cross  and  suspicious  and  listen  to  John  Johnson. 
And  after  all  she  had  no  reason  to  think  that  these 
young  men,  who  were  storm-bound  with  her,  were  any- 
thing but  what  they  said  they  were.  She  would  caution 
Sallie,  she  would  insist  that  Sallie  should  carry  her 
money  in  some  other  way  than  loose  in  her  pocket. 
Then  she  wouldn't  be  so  nervous.  She  hated  to  think 
of  robbers  and  murderers  all  of  the  time. 

104 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Her  short  nap  had  refreshed  her,  the  warmth  of  the 
fire  was  pleasant,  so  was  the  purring  of  the  black  kit- 
ten nestling  against  her ;  the  odor  of  coffee  floated  ap- 
petizingly  across  from  the  kitchen  and  promised  agree- 
able sustenance.  She  could  hear  the  rain  beating 
against  the  cottage  and  she  felt  very  comfortable  and 
sheltered,  as  she  had  felt  for  sixty-three  years. 

"We  were  fortunate  to  find  this  cottage,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"We  were,"  heartily  agreed  John  Johnson.  "It's  no 
joke  to  be  caught  out  in  a  storm  like  this.  That's  a 
nifty  little  car  you  are  driving,"  as  if  he  had  been  able 
to  see  anything  but  a  black  shadow  on  the  driveway. 
Perhaps  he  could  tell  a  nifty  little  car  by  the  feel  of  it. 

"It  is  not  mine.    It  belongs  to  my  niece." 

"Have  you  come  far  in  it?"  He  rose  and  went  to 
stir  the  fire  as  he  put  the  question. 

Now  distances  are  relative  and  as  Aunt  Martha  had 
traveled  far,  to  many  foreign  lands,  the  miles  that  sep- 
arated her  from  home  were  not  many  in  her  estimation 
so  she  was  quite  honest  when  she  said :  "Not  far." 

John  Johnson  mentally  traveled  the  road  and  found 
Lincoln  the  first  town  below  them  and  Prussia  the  one 
beyond.  Neither  was  far  enough  to  permit  their  resi- 
dents to  be  overtaken  by  such  a  storm  even  if  they  were 
women  and  unobservant.  He  went  farther  and  found 
himself  in  Prairieville.  When  he  spoke  of  that  small 

8  105 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


town  and  Aunt  Martha  flushed  as  she  admitted  most 
reluctantly  that  she  had  an  acquaintance  with  that 
county  seat  he  nodded,  well  pleased.  So  this  dowager 
duchess  and  her  pretty  niece  had  come  from  Prairieville. 

Aunt  Martha  obtained  no  clue  to  John  Johnson's 
residence  before  Smith  Jones  announced  that  supper 
was  served  in  a  manner  that  was  as  formal  and  impres- 
sive as  that  of  a  smart  maitre  d'hotel.  He  drew  out  a 
chair  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  seated  her  with  the 
same  flourish. 

Aunt  Martha  had  learned  many  things  about  her 
niece  since  she  had  left  Waloo  and  now  she  was  to  dis- 
cover that  her  culinary  ability  was  of  the  order  that 
commands  high  salaries.  The  supper  was  excellent, 
their  appetites  of  the  best  and  they  laughed  and  talked 
as  they  ate. 

"If  you  are  on  a  motor  trip,"  Smith  Jones  asked 
suddenly,  "how  do  you  happen  to  be  going  north?  I 
thought  the  picturesque  part  of  the  state  was  in  the 
south." 

Sallie  put  down  her  cup  and  bent  forward.  "I'll  tell 
you,"  she  began  in  that  enchanting  manner  that  Aunt 
Martha  had  grown  to  know  so  well. 

"Sallie !"  she  said  warningly. 

And  Sallie  obediently  took  up  her  cup  again.  "It 
seems  that  I  won't  tell  you,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER 


AUNT   MARTHA  had   seldom   passed   a  more 
agreeable  evening.     She  forgot  her  earlier  sus- 
picions or,  if  she  remembered  them  at  all,  it  was 
with  a  quiet  smile  of  amusement  that  she  should  ever 
have  regarded  these  two  strangers  as  other  than  they 
appeared,  two  very  attractive  well-bred  young  men. 

Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  brought  in  the  motor 
trunk,  all  wet  and  glistening,  and  carried  it  upstairs 
where  it  pleased  Sallie  to  count  out  the  old  game  of 
"Eeney,  meeney,  miney,  moe"  —  to  see  who  should  have 
the  first  choice  of  rooms.  She  very  wisely  let  the  last 
syllable  fall  on  Aunt  Martha  who  selected  the  first  room 
on  the  right,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  announced 
that  Sallie  should  share  it  with  her.  That  put  an  end 
to  the  game  and  sent  them  back  to  the  fire.  John  John- 
son brought  in  more  birch  logs  and  Smith  Jones  found 
some  apples. 

"We  surely  are  making  ourselves  quite  at  home," 
Sallie  remarked  as  she  watched  Smith  Jones  put  out  all 

107 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


of  the  lights  but  one  lamp  at  the  other  end  of  the  long 
room  after  taking  a  vote  on  the  question — firelight  or 
lamplight — which  ? 

He  smiled  as  he  drew  a  chair  forward  and  joined  the 
circle.  He  was  glad  that  she  did  not  look  as  frightened 
as  she  had  out  there  in  the  kitchen ;  glad  that  she  trusted 
him  to  help  her.  He  would  like  to  tell  her  how  jolly 
it  was  to  see  her  in  the  glow  from  the  flames  but  he 
did  not  dare.  There  would  be  plenty  of  time  for  that 
later,  he  decided  with  another  smile  which  included  Aunt 
Martha,  also.  She  was  moved  to  return  it  with  a  part- 
ing of  the  lips  so  pleasant  and  companionable  that 
Smith  Jones  chuckled  inwardly. 

"The  old  lady  is  a  human  being  in  spite  of  her  duch- 
ess airs,"  he  thought. 

Firelight  is  a  wonderful  loosener  of  tongues  and  they 
talked  of  many  and  curious  things  as  they  sat  there 
together  with  the  wind  moaning  through  the  trees  and 
the  rain  beating  a  tattoo  against  the  windows.  John 
Johnson  and  Smith  Jones  talked  well.  They  seemed 
to  have  been  in  many  places  and  had  many  experiences ; 
they  knew  the  oddest  people,  in  all  ranks  of  life;  they 
were  well  read  and  they  never  spoiled  a  story  just  be- 
cause it  happened  to  be  at  the  expense  of  one  or  the 
other.  Sallie  drew  them  out  and  led  them  on  in  a  man- 
ner that  made  Aunt  Martha  wonder,  as  she  had  so  often 
wondered  since  Sallie  had  bribed  her  butler,  about  a 

108 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


convent  education.  She  had  thought  it  made  girls  shy 
and  retiring.  Sallie  wasn't  bold,  indeed,  she  was  not 
forward!  but  she  wasn't,  no,  she  really  wasn't,  shy  nor 
what  Aunt  Martha  considered  retiring.  She  was  a  dear 
girl,  she  decided  and  then  she  heard  the  clock  strike. 
Smith  Jones  had  wound  it  with  the  remark  that  a  clock 
that  did  not  go  was  like  a  dead  man  in  the  house.  She 
could  not  believe  it  when  she  heard  that  clock  cry  twelve 
times. 

"Bless  me !"  she  exclaimed.    "It's  midnight !" 

"It's  the  beginning  of  another  day."  Sallie  jumped 
up  to  go  and  peer  out  of  the  rain-splashed  window. 
"What  kind  of  road  do  you  think  this  rain  will  make?" 
she  asked  ruefully. 

Smith  Jones  had  been  lighting  a  lamp  for  her  and  as 
he  came  forward  with  it  he  said  as  hospitably  as  any 
week-end  host :  "Oh,  but  you're  not  going  yet.  You've 
only  just  come." 

"But  I  can't  stay  forever,"  she  cried. 

"I  wish  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  you  could,"  he 
whispered,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

There  was  a  flare  in  the  depths  of  his  eyes  that  made 
her  quiver  before  she  laughed  and  took  the  lamp  from 
him. 

"Remember  your  promise,"  she  just  formed  the  words 
and  then  she  turned  to  her  aunt.  "Come,  Aunt  Martha. 
We  are  through  with  yesterday.  Let  us  go  and  make  a 

109 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


good  beginning  for  today.  Good-night/'  she  said  to 
the  men  very  formally. 

They  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  watched  her 
ascend,  one  hand  holding  the  lamp,  the  other  slipped 
under  Aunt  Martha's  elbow.  "Good-night,"  they 
called.  "Good-night." 

Sallie  looked  over  the  banister  and  called  "Good- 
night" to  them  again.  She  followed  her  aunt  into  the 
bedroom  at  the  right  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  put 
the  lamp  on  the  dresser.  She  closed  the  door  and 
stood  with  her  back  to  it.  She  could  not  wait  another 
minute.  When  one  is  just  bursting  with  news  one  has 
to  tell  it  to  someone  and  Aunt  Martha  was  the  only 
person  she  could  tell. 

"Aunt  Martha,"  she  said  solemnly,  although  her  lips 
twitched  and  her  eyes  crinkled.  It  was  too  funny. 
"Do  you  know  what  those  men  are  ?  They  are  burglars. 
That's  what  they  are,  gentleman  burglars !" 

Aunt  Martha  had  been  making  a  leisurely  survey  of 
the  room  and  it  was  fortunate  that  she  had  reached 
the  bed  for  she  sat  down  heavily  and  stared  at  her 
niece. 

Sallie  nodded.  "The  taller  one,  Mr.  Smith  Jones," 
she  giggled  at  the  name,  it  was  so  palpably  a  false  one, 
"told  me  that  he  could  pick  any  lock  that  was  made  and 
he  certainly  picked  the  one  on  the  front  door.  Then 
later,  when  we  were  in  the  kitchen — "  she  remembered 

110 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


just  in  time  that  she  did  not  wish  her  aunt  to  know 
anything  of  the  Cabot  robbery  and  cut  her  sentence 
short.  "You  know  burglars  aren't  what  they  used  to 
be,"  she  went  on  reassuringly  as  she  saw  the  astonish- 
ment in  Aunt  Martha's  face  grow  into  fear.  "Well  edu- 
cated men,  men  of  position,  are  often  burglars  now." 
She  spoke  as  if  thieving  was  one  of  the  recognized  pro- 
fessions like  law  or  medicine.  "Didn't  you  ever  read 
'Raffles  ?'  There  isn't  the  slightest  doubt  that  they  are 
gentlemen,"  she  remembered  the  many  little  incidents 
that  proved  it,  the  courteous  manner,  the  smooth  voices, 
"but  I  believe  that  they  are  thieves  just  the  same." 

"Why,  Sallie  Waters !"  Aunt  Martha's  voice  rose 
shrilly.  She  couldn't  believe  her  ears  and  yet  all  of  the 
suspicion  with  which  she  had  regarded  Smith  Jones 
and  John  Johnson  at  first  returned  and  made  her  shud- 
der. Horror  was  written  all  over  the  face  she  turned 
to  Sallie.  "We  can't  stay  here !"  she  managed  to  gasp, 
and  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet. 

When  Sallie  saw  how  frightened  her  aunt  was  she  was 
ashamed  of  herself.  She  wished  she  had  bitten  her 
tongue  in  two  before  she  had  let  it  tell  her  suspicions. 
What  a  thoughtless  idiot  she  had  been.  And  cruel. 
She  might  have  known  that  Aunt  Martha  wouldn't  re- 
gard being  storm  bound  with  two  thieves,  gentlemen 
though  they  unmistakably  were,  as  amusing.  Aunt 
Martha  was  too  conventional.  She  was  thoroughly 

111 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ashamed  as  she  ran  across  the  room  and  put  a  sturdy 
arm  around  her  shivering  aunt.  She  had  found  it  much 
easier  to  rouse  suspicion  than  she  would  to  allay  it. 

"We  can't  go  away,"  she  said.  "Listen  to  that  rain. 
We'd  drown  before  we  reached  the  main  road.  And 
there's  no  reason  we  should  go.  These  men  are  gentle- 
men. They  wouldn't  harm  us.  I  know  they  wouldn't !" 
She  spoke  positively  for  she  felt  positive.  Hadn't  she 
appealed  to  Smith  Jones  and  hadn't  he  responded  as  a 
gentleman  should?  She  left  Aunt  Martha  still  trembling 
on  the  bed  and  went  to  the  dresser  where  she  carelessly 
threw  the  roll  of  bills  from  her  pocket. 

At  the  mere  sight  of  it  Aunt  Martha  was  threatened 
with  a  stroke. 

"Sallie !  Sallie  Waters !"  she  cried  in  agony.  She 
caught  the  bills  in  her  shaking  fingers  and  stood  uncer- 
tainly. What  should  she  do  with  them  ?  What  could  she 
do  ?  "Oh !"  she  moaned,  "why  did  we  ever  leave  home  ?" 

With  a  little  exclamation,  too  soothing  to  be  im- 
patient, Sallie  enveloped  her  with  protecting  arms  again. 
"What  a  beast  I  was  to  tell  you !"  she  said  fervently. 
"I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you,  Aunt  Martha.  Hon- 
estly I  didn't.  I  thought  it  was  a  good  joke,  funny 
you  know,"  she  explained,  because  Aunt  Martha  looked 
too  dazed  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  word  "joke," 
"that  we  should  be  caught  here  with  two  burglars.  But 
I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you." 

112 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Aunt  Martha  stopped  shaking  long  enough  to  look  at 
Sallie  searchingly.  "Then  you  don't  think  they  are 
thieves  ?"  she  brought  the  final  word  out  with  a  shudder. 

It  is  a  strange  thing  that  the  most  of  us  can  fib  with- 
out a  tremor  so  long  as  the  untruths  concern  unimpor- 
tant matters,  but  if  the  subject  under  discussion  is  of  any 
real  moment  the  lie  refuses  to  be  uttered.  We  simply 
can't  say  it.  Sallie  tried  her  very  best  to  assure  her  aunt 
that  she  did  not  think  that  Smith  Jones  and  John  John- 
son were  thieves,  that  they  were  as  honest  and  upright 
as  society  expects  men  to  be,  but  she  could  not  do  it. 
She  just  could  not  do  it. 

"Even  if  they  are,"  she  stoutly  insisted  instead,  "we 
haven't  anything  to  fear." 

"Nothing  to  fear!"  Aunt  Martha  towered  above  her 
as  she  cried,  in  an  outraged  voice.  "Nothing  to  fear 
with  the  house  overrun  with  burglars  and  with  all  this 
money !"  And  she  looked  at  the  roll  of  bills  before  she 
tossed  it  on  the  dresser  as  if  it  burned  her  fingers. 

"If  they  had  wanted  that  money  they  could  have  kept 
it  when  Mr.  Jones  picked  it  up  for  me,"  Sallie  insisted, 
and  she  tried  to  make  her  voice  very  firm  and  convincing 
but  deep  in  her  heart  was  a  feeling  that  if  Aunt  Martha 
did  not  stop  she  might  make  her  uncomfortably  nervous. 
Fear  is  as  contagious  as  the  mumps. 

That  was  true.  Smith  Jones  could  have  kept  it.  He 
need  never  have  returned  the  roll  of  bills  to  Sallie  when 

113 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


he  gathered  it  from  the  floor.  He  could  have  slipped 
it  into  his  own  pocket.  They  could  have  done  nothing 
to  prevent  him.  There  was  a  tiny,  tiny  crumb  of  com- 
fort to  be  derived  from  that  fact  for  no  burglar,  gentle- 
man or  no  gentleman,  would  use  violence  unless  it  were 
necessary.  It  is  human  nature  to  acquire  the  desirable 
as  easily  and  as  cheaply  as  possible.  Aunt  Martha 
could  understand  that. 

"Why — why  did  you  let  them  see  you  had  it?"  she 
whimpered. 

"I  didn't  show  it  to  them  on  purpose.  Come  on, 
Aunt  Martha,  get  ready  for  bed.  You  can't  help  mat- 
ters by  fussing  and  you  are  tired  to  death."  She  patted 
her  arm  soothingly. 

Aunt  Martha  was  tired,  more  tired  than  she  realized, 
but  her  state  of  mind  would  not  permit  her  to  think  of 
bed. 

"We'll  have  a  good  night's  rest,"  Sallie  promised  her, 
as  if  it  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  have,  "and 
then  in  the  morning,  after  breakfast,  we'll  go  on  or,  if 
you  had  rather,  we  will  go  back  home.  I  hope  the  car 
is  all  right."  She  went  to  the  window  and  looked  down 
on  the  little  roadster  that  stood  so  patiently  and  un- 
complainingly in  the  rain.  "You  know,  Aunt  Martha," 
she  said  as  she  turned  around  and  saw  her  aunt,  a  very 
picture  of  helpless  woe  on  the  bed,  "if  Mr.  Jones  and 
Mr.  Johnson  had  wanted  to  they  could  have  taken  the 

114 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


money  and  gone  off  in  their  motor  boat  or  the  car  and 
we  couldn't  have  done  a  single  thing.  They  didn't  do 
it  so  we  can  be  fairly  sure  that  they  don't  intend  to  do 
it."  She  had  said  nothing  to  Aunt  Martha  about  their 
lack  of  gasoline,  there  couldn't  be  enough  in  the  tank 
to  take  either  MT.  Jones  or  Mr.  Johnson  to  the  main 
road,  and  she  did  not  intend  to.  She  had  a  feeling 
that  she  had  told  Aunt  Martha  quite  enough  for  one 
evening.  All  her  other  information  she  would  keep  to- 
herself. 

Aunt  Martha  frowned  as  she  studied  the  situation  for 
two  minutes.  She  rose  heavily  from  her  refuge,  the 
bed.  "All  the  same  I  shall  not  close  my  eyes  tonight. 
And  we'll  leave  the  money  right  there  on  the  dresser. 
Then  if  they  change  their  minds  and  want  it  they  can  get 
it  without  disturbing  us."  She  moved  the  roll  of  bills 
until  it  was  in  the  center  of  the  dresser  where  it  looked 
as  conspicuous  as  the  sole  object  on  an  expanse  of  linen- 
covered  dresser  could  look.  "I  don't  see  what  you 
meant,  Sallie  Waters,"  she  went  on  tearfully  now,  "by 
carrying  so  much  money  in  your  pocket?  I  wonder  we 
haven't  been  robbed  and  murdered  before." 

Sallie  refused  to  be  irritated  by  the  repetition  that  it 
was  all  her  fault.  "There  really  isn't  so  much,  Aunt 
Martha,"  her  voice  was  the  coo  of  the  dove ;  it  was  peace 
itself.  "Only  five  hundred  dollars  less  our  expenses,  if 
you  can  figure  that  out.  No,  I  didn't  bring  the  whole 

115 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


five  thousand  with  me.  Did  you  think  I  had?  That 
would  have  been  extravagant  as  well  as  reckless  when 
Dick's  bank  will  take  care  of  it  for  me  for  nothing  until 
I  want  it.  But  five  hundred!  I  knew  we'd  need  that 
much  anyway  and  I  had  to  carry  it  somewhere.  I  can 
always  keep  things  in  my  pocket  but  I  leave  a  purse 
wherever  I  put  it  down.  It  looks  a  lot  more  than  it 
really  is,"  and  she  glanced  reproachfully  at  the  deceitful 
roll  of  bills. 

"Even  five  hundred  dollars  is  worth  taking  if  you 
can  get  it  for  nothing.  Dear,  dear  Sallie !  I  don't 
know  when  I  have  been  so  uneasy,"  and  she  looked 
uneasy.  "They  know  we  have  this  room.  Do  you  sup- 
pose we  would  sleep  better  if  we  should  leave  the  money 
here  and  go  into  the  next  room  ?  Oliver  Cromwell  used 
to  change  beds  half  a  dozen  times  in  a  night.  He  was 
afraid  of  being  murdered.  Your  uncle  read  me  the  life 
of  Cromwell  two  winters  ago  so  that  I  could  compare 
him  with  Napoleon,  and  I  remember  that  a  great  deal 
was  made  of  his  fear  of  being  murdered.  No,  I  don't 
honestly  think  that  Mr.  Jones  or  Mr.  Johnson  would 
murder  us,  Sallie,"  she  admitted,  "but  they  might 
frighten  us  to  death.  They  may  have  the  money,  I 
don't  care  for  it,  but  I  don't  want  to  be  frightened  to 
death.  I  never  slept  in  a  house  with  burglars  before. 
Your  uncle  was  always  so  particular  about  our  friends." 

"You  dear  old  thing!"   Sallie   hugged  her.     "You 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


shan't  be  frightened  to  death.  There  isn't  any  reason 
why  you  should  be.  And  as  for  Oliver  Cromwell — you 
shall  sleep  in  any  bed  you  choose  and  we'll  leave  the 
money  here  or  I'll  put  it  outside  the  door  if  you  say  so." 

Her  ready  acceptance  of  Aunt  Martha's  plans 
soothed  that  frightened  woman  as  no  argument  would 
have  done.  "You  don't  really  think  there  is  any  dan- 
ger, do  you,  Sallie  ?  I  suppose  I  am  nervous  but  I  have 
had  an  awful  day." 

"You  have  had  a  tiring  day."  Sallie  would  only 
admit  to  that  much.  "But  don't  let  us  talk  of  burglars 
any  more.  Don't  let  us  think  of  them,"  she  suggested 
as  she  took  the  pins  from  her  hair. 

"I  don't  want  to  think  of  them,"  murmured  Aunt 
Martha  as  she  watched  the  fluffy  mass  of  yellow  hair 
fall  about  Sallie's  white  shoulders  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments she  did  not  think  of  them.  She  was  too  busy 
thinking  that  once  her  hair  was  as  soft  and  fluffy  and 
yellow  as  Sallie's  was  now.  "But  I  must  think  of  some- 
thing," she  added  after  a  pause.  She  spoke  sadly  as  if 
she  had  no  alternative.  She  would  have  to  think  of 
burglars  or  of  nothing  and  as  she  could  not  empty  her 
mind  she  had  to  meditate  on  burglars. 

"Think  of  your  little  Joshua."  Sallie  tried  to  sug- 
gest a  subject  that  was  far  removed  from  any  of  the 
day's  happenings. 

Aunt  Martha  shook  her  head.     "I  don't  believe  I 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


can  do  that,  Sallie,"  she  said  mournfully.  "It  is  over 
thirty  years  since  I  saw  Joe  and  then  he  wasn't  little. 
He  was  as  big  as  Mr.  Jones.  Do  you  know  Mr.  Jones 
reminds  me  of  someone.  I  wonder  who  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  couldn't  say."  Sallie  had  her  hair  in  a 
braid  by  now  and  tossed  it  over  her  shoulder.  "He 
doesn't  remind  me  of  anyone  but  Smith  Jones." 

"I  think  it's  the  lower  part  of  his  face,"  mused  Aunt 
Martha,  "or  perhaps  it's  the  upper — his  eyes " 

"His  eyes,"  Sallie  was  enthusiastic,  "are  wonderful !" 

"Sallie."  Aunt  Martha  could  not  approve  of  such 
enthusiastic  admiration  of  Smith  Jones'  eyes  if  Smith 
Jones  was  the  thief  they  thought  him. 

"They  are."  The  girl  smiled  as  she  remembered 
Smith  Jones'  eyes  as  they  had  looked  into  hers  when  he 
handed  her  the  lamp.  "They  are  the  most  beautiful 
eyes  I  ever  saw." 

Aunt  Martha  looked  at  her.  At  last  her  thoughts 
were  effectually  diverted.  "If  I  remember  correctly," 
she  said  scathingly,  "you  thought  the  apple  grower — 
what  was  his  name? — had  the  most  beautiful  chin  and 
the  nose  of  the  Justice  of  the  Peace " 

Sallie  interrupted  her  with  a  laugh  that  rang  music- 
ally down  the  stairs  into  the  ears  of  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  by  the  fire  below.  "You  have  it  all  wrong, 
Aunt  Martha.  It  was  Mr.  Brent's  nose  and  the  J.  P.'s 
chin.  It  had  a  dimple,  a  most  illegal  dimple.  If  the 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


apple  nose  and  the  legal  chin  were  combined  with  Mr. 
Jones'  eyes  and  Mr.  Johnson's  complexion  what  a  face 
they  would  make."  She  sighed  to  think  she  would 
never  see  such  a  face. 

Instantly  Aunt  Martha  was  all  disapproval.  "I  don't 
think  it  is  proper  for  you  to  notice  individual  features 
as  you  do." 

Sallie's  eyes  opened  wide.  "If  I  don't  notice  indi- 
vidual features  how  can  I  know  individuals  ?"  she  wanted 
to  know. 

Aunt  Martha  could  not  tell  her.  She  only  felt  in  a 
dim  old-fashioned  way  that  she  did  not  approve.  In  her 
day  girls  did  not  express  their  admiration  of  a  man's 
nose  or  chin  in  such  an  open  fashion.  Why,  Sallie  had 
all  but  told  the  owners  of  these  features  how  much  she 
admired  them.  Aunt  Martha  blushed  as  she  remem- 
bered that. 

"Anyway,  I  don't  think  the  Duke  would  like  it,"  she 
said  abruptly. 

"The  Duke."  It  was  Sallie's  turn  to  stare  at  her 
now.  "The  Duke?"  she  repeated. 

"The  Duke  de  Larras,  who  gave  you  the  five-franc 
piece.  You  told  me  about  him.  What  kind  of  eyes  did 
he  have?"  she  asked  pleasantly.  If  they  must  discuss 
eyes  it  was  far  better  to  talk  of  ducal  eyes. 

"Fish  eyes,"  was  the  explosive  answer.  "The  kind 
that  stand  out  so  you  can  see  how  the  color  has  faded. 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Once  they  must  have  been  blue,"  impressively.     "Now 
they  are  only  pop  eyes." 

"Oh,  Sallie!"  Aunt  Martha  could  not  believe  that 
any  duke  could  have  such  unattractive  eyes.  They  did 
not  sound  ducal. 

"All  the  same  Uncle  Raoul  was  a  good  sort,  an  awful- 
ly good  sort."  Sallie  was  ashamed  of  her  criticism.  "I 
only  hope  he  hasn't  been  shot.  Even  if  he  was  too  old 
I  know  he'd  go.  He  wouldn't  stay  at  home  just  because 
he  had  fought  in  the  Franco-Prussian."  She  stopped  to 
think  of  Uncle  Raoul  and  of  his  country  and  of  what 
both  might  be  suffering  at  that  moment.  Her  face  was 
very  sober,  very  sweet. 

Aunt  Martha,  ready  now  for  the  night,  had  to  stop 
on  her  way  to  bed  to  admire  it. 

"You  are  a  good  girl,  Sallie,"  she  said  suddenly  and 
obeying  a  sudden  and  most  unusual  impulse  she  stooped 
and  kissed  her. 

Sallie's  arms  went  around  her  neck.  "I'm  not.  I'm 
a  selfish  beast,"  she  whispered  confidentially.  "You 
jump  into  bed.  I'll  put  out  the  light." 

She  went  to  the  window  to  peer  out  into  the  night 
again  first.  "It's  raining  cats  and  dogs,"  she  told  Aunt 
Martha,  "not  little  Pomeranians  and  kittens  but  big 
mastiffs  and  old  toms." 

Then  she  turned  the  wick  low  and  blew  out  the  lamp 
and  crept  to  bed.  The  roll  of  bills,  five  hundred  dollars, 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


less  their  expenses  since  they  had  left  Waloo,  remained 
in  the  center  of  the  dresser  so  that  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  might  find  it  without  any  trouble  if  they 
were  so  minded. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

SMITH  JONES  and  John  Johnson  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  until  Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie 
were  out  of  sight.  Then  they  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  second  before  simultaneously  and  without 
a  word  they  turned,  as  if  moved  by  the  same  spring, 
and  went  out  into  the  storm. 

Sallie's  brave  little  roadster  stood,  like  a  black 
shadow,  in  front  of  the  entrance.  Smith  Jones  and  John 
Johnson  looked  at  it  as  it  glistened  in  the  flashes  of 
lightning. 

"Um,"  remarked  Smith  Jones  reflectively. 

"Quite  so,"  agreed  John  Johnson,  staring  at  the  rain- 
dripped  machine. 

Then,  still  moved  as  by  that  same  spring,  they  left 
the  shelter  of  the  porch  and  went  out  into  the  rain,  to 
the  rear  of  the  car.  Smith  Jones  struck  a  match  and 
carefully  shielding  it  with  his  hand  held  it  over  the 
license  plate.  John  Johnson  stooped  to  see,  also.  The 
rain  fell  on  their  uncovered  heads  and  shoulders. 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Um,"  muttered  John  Johnson  as  he  made  out  the 
mud-splashed  numeral. 

"Quite  so,"  murmured  Smith  Jones,  straightening  his 
wet  shoulders  and  making  for  cover. 

He  put  a  fresh  log  on  the  glowing  coals  and  took  his 
pipe  from  his  pocket.  John  Johnson  took  his  pipe  from 
his  pocket,  too,  and  they  sat  there  before  the  fire  and 
smoked  and  meditated. 

The  solitary  lamp  had  gone  out  of  its  own  accord 
and  the  big  room  was  lighted  only  by  the  fire.  In  the 
walls  were  many  windows,  dark  spaces  with  rain  drops 
running  races  on  the  panes,  and  where  there  were  not 
windows  there  were  bookcases  filled  with  a  dull  mosaic 
of  red,  green,  blue  and  brown.  The  colors  were  re- 
peated in  the  rugs  on  the  polished  floor  of  dark  wood. 
The  furniture  was  of  a  solid  and  substantial  sort,  the 
kind  a  man  would  choose  if  given  a  free  hand.  Fur- 
ther hint  of  masculine  ownership  might  have  been  dis- 
covered in  the  curtains  which  hung  on  rings  so  that 
they  could  be  quickly  drawn  or  thrown  back  by  hasty 
hands.  There  were  no  pictures  and  none  of  the  small 
trinkets  that  show  that  a  room  is  lived  in  and  that  hint 
of  the  personality  of  the  owner.  But  even  if  this  big 
spacious  room  told  no  secrets  and  had  a  deserted  air, 
it  was  a  pleasant  place  and  doubly  pleasant  while  the 
rain  and  wind  stormed  outside. 

The  silence  was  unbroken  until  the  meddlesome  clock 

123 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


. 
sounded  the  half  hour.     Smith  Jones  lifted  his  head  and 

looked  at  John  Johnson. 

"Jack,"  he  said  earnestly,  "do  you  believe  that  girl 
is  a  thief?" 

"What!"  The  astonished  John  Johnson  bounced 
from  his  chair  and  stared  at  him. 

"My  intelligence,  the  thinking  part  of  me  tells  me 
that  she  is,"  Smith  Jones  continued,  "but  my  instinct 
swears  she  isn't." 

"I  should  say  she  wasn't!"  gasped  John  Johnson. 
"Why — why — she's  too — too  pretty  and  fine!"  He 
found  it  difficult  to  put  in  words  why  he  had  such  a 
strong  conviction  that  Sallie  Waters,  Smith,  rather, 
was  not  a  thief.  He  knew  she  wasn't. 

Smith  Jones  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 
"That's  no  reason,"  scornfully.  "Even  pretty  girls 
have  been  known  to  steal.  And  thieves  aren't  what 
they  used  to  be  as  you  jolly  well  know.  Lots  of  them 
are  as  refined  and  cultured  as  society  buds,  some  of  them 
are  society  buds,  only  they  are  generally  called  klepto- 
maniacs. You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  A  girl  thief 
has  to  be  pretty  and  smart  and  well  educated  or  she 
doesn't  get  along  very  far.  You  know  that,  too,"  and 
he  looked  oddly  at  John  Johnson,  who  nodded  his  head 
slowly  as  if  reluctant  to  admit  that  he  knew  it. 

"The  old  lady?"  he  questioned  explosively. 

"That,"  remarked  Smith  Jones,  knocking  the  ash 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


from  his  cigar  on  to  the  floor  in  the  careless  masculine 
manner,  "is  what  bothers  me.  I  can't  make  up  my 
mind  whether  she  is  one  of  the  team  or  whether  the  girl 
has  her  along  to  fool  the  public.  She's  a  most  respec- 
table looking  chaperon." 

"She  surely  looks  respectable,"  indorsed  the  puzzled 
John  Johnson.  How  Aunt  Martha  would  have  wished 
to  box  his  ears  if  she  had  heard  the  emphasis  he  gave 
to  the  third  word. 

Again  there  was  silence.  Both  men  frowned  at  the 
fire  in  a  way  that  would  have  daunted  anything  less  self 
centered  than  a  burning  birch  log.  John  Johnson 
shook  his  head  again.  He  couldn't  figure  it  out. 

"What  makes  you  think  she's  a  thief?"  he  had  to 
ask  at  last. 

"A  lot  of  things  prove  that  she  is,"  Smith  Jones 
answered  promptly.  "To  begin  with  what  are  two 
women,  one  of  them  a  girl  like  that,"  he  motioned  to- 
ward the  ceiling,  "doing  in  a  high-priced  roadster  in 
this  part  of  the  country  alone?  There  is  only  one 
thing  that  would  bring  them.  Scenery?  Huh!  You 
heard  the  aunt  shut  the  girl  up  when  she  started  to  tell 
us  some  rot  about  why  they  were  here?  Then  they  lied 
about  their  names " 

"Well,  so  did  we,"  broke  in  John  Johnson.  "At  least 
you  told  them  that  whopper,  that  you  were  Smith  Jones 
and  I  was  John  Johnson." 

125 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Not  until  they  had  handed  us  their  own  lie.  Mrs. 
Martha  Smith — Sallie  Smith,"  he  sneered  at  such  plain 
every-day  names.  "Sallie  Smith!  Even  a  man  stone 
deaf  in  both  ears  and  blind  would  know  that  girl's 
name  wasn't  Sallie  Smith.  She  doesn't  look  like  a  Sal- 
lie  Smith.  And  she  blushed  when  she  said  it  was  her 
name,  so  she  doesn't  believe  it  herself.  She  isn't  an  old 
hand  at  the  game,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  And  then," 
he  leaned  closer  to  John  Johnson  as  he  stood  before  the 
fire,  "did  you  see  that  roll  of  money  she  dropped?  A 
roll  as  big  as  my  wrist!  She  blushed  again  when  I 
handed  it  to  her  and  the  old  lady  looked  as  if  it  was  all 
up  with  them.  I  don't  know  a  girl,  and  you  don't 
either,  who  goes  off  on  a  motor  trip  with  a  roll  of  bills 
tucked  into  her  pocket  like  a  handkerchief.  And  then 
— this  is  most  important — I  had  a  Waloo  paper,  the 
Gazette,  in  my  pocket.  There  was  a  story  in  it  about 
a  burglary  in  Waloo.  No,  not  the  Cabot  house,  we 
know  about  that.  But  the  Marston's.  A  lot  of  money 
was  taken.  Bills !  There  was  no  clue,  but  the  police 
suspect  a  maid  and  housekeeper.  Both  were  new  and 
both  disappeared  after  the  robbery.  The  description 
in  the  paper  isn't  unlike  this  girl  and  the  old  lady, 
the  police  call  her  the  Duchess.  Anybody  might  call 
Mrs.  Martha  Smith  a  duchess  and  not  go  far  wrong. 
Well,  after  showing  me  the  roll  Sallie  Smith  burned 
the  paper  that  tells  about  this  robbery,  dropped  it  in 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  fire  and  looked  scared  to  death  when  she  did  it. 
And  that  isn't  all.  When  we  were  in  the  kitchen  get- 
ting supper  she  just  the  same  as  confessed,  that  is  she 
asked  me  to  help  her,  admitted  that  they  were  in  a  hole 
and  asked  us  to  lend  a  hand.  She  certainly  was  wor- 
ried, anyone  could  see  that  she  was  afraid."  He  sank 
back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  John  Johnson  as  if  to 
ask  what  he  could  say  in  the  face  of  all  that  evidence. 

John  Johnson  could  say  nothing.  He  frowned  more 
darkly  at  the  fire.  "But  that's  all  purely  circumstan- 
tial or  supposition,"  he  objected.  "I'll  admit  that  I 
don't  understand  why  she  should  burn  the  newspaper 
unless  she  wanted  to  destroy  something  that  was  in  it. 
And  the  money?  Most  girls  haven't  rolls  like  that  to 
tuck  into  their  pockets.  The  name — any  girl  might 
tell  two  strange  men  that  her  name  was  Sallie  Smith, 
she  might  not  care  to  give  her  own.  It's  queer  of  her 
to  ask  your  help,  though.  I  don't  know — I  find  it  hard 
to  believe  that  she  is  a  thief.  Why  she's  a  convent 
girl !"  he  exclaimed  as  if  that  settled  the  matter.  "And 
an  Episcopalian !" 

"She  is?  Canadian,  then.  That  explains  her  Mere 
Poulard,"  promptly.  "French  Canadian,  perhaps. 
Well,  we're  not  so  many  hundred  miles  from  the  bor- 
der. That's  where  she's  going,  John!"  He  jumped 
to  his  feet  excitedly.  It  was  clear  as  spring  water  to 
him  now.  "She's  trying  to  get  over  the  line  before  the 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


police  get  her.  By  George!  but  she's  clever.  How- 
do  you  know  she's  a  Canadian?"  he  demanded. 

"I  don't  know  she  is  a  Canadian.  I  never  said  she 
was.  I  said  she  was  an  Episcopalian.  But  there  is 
something  about  her  different  from  most  girls,  little 
foreign  ways,  perhaps,"  vaguely.  "She  told  me  she 
had  gone  to  a  convent  when  you  were  out  for  apples. 
Oh,  hang  it  all !  I  can't  believe  it !  I  can't  believe  it." 
And  he  walked  the  full  length  of  the  room  and  back 
again  as  he  tried  to  make  himself  believe  it. 

"That's  the  way  I  feel."  Smith  Jones  joined  him  in 
the  restless  promenade.  "You  know,  Jack,  I've  had 
an  awfully  lonely  life  in  a  way.  My  mother  died  when 
I  was  born  and  then  my  father,  seven  years  later.  Why, 
I  was  packed  off  to  a  kid  boarding  school  when  I  was 
eight.  There  wasn't  any  woman  closer  to  me  than 
my  nurse  and  the  matron  of  that  kid  school.  She 
was  a  dear  old  soul,  too.  And  so  was  Nanna.  But 
I  never  had  a  sister  nor  a  girl  cousin,  never  knew  a 
mother  or  a  grandmother.  Great  Scott !  I  never  had 
even  a  maiden  aunt.  And  when  I  saw  those  two  here 
tonight,  that  old  lady — there's  something  mighty  aris- 
tocratic and  appealing  about  her,  thief  or  no  thief — 
she  makes  a  fellow  want  to  help  her.  And  that  little 
girl.  They  got  me — that's  all,"  simply.  "They  just 
got  me !" 

"Well,"  John  Johnson's  words  came  more  slowly,  they 

128 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


always  did.  "I  have  a  mother  and  two  sisters  and  I 
have  a  grandmother  and  a  maiden  aunt  or  two  some- 
where, but  the  old  lady,  as  you  say,  and  the  little  girl 
got  me,  also.  Jove !  when  I  came  in  from  the  shed  and 
saw  her  there,"  he  swung  around  and  pointed  to  the  low 
chair  in  which  Sallie  had  sat,  "with  the  firelight  turning 
that  yellow  hair  of  hers  to  gold  and  that  imp  of  laugh- 
ter in  her  eyes,  why  she  got  me,  as  you  say.  She  got 
me  for  fair !"  and  he  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"We  must  do  what  we  can  to  help  them."  Smith 
Jones  spoke  even  more  eagerly.  "There  must  be  de- 
tectives after  them  now.  A  big  haul  like  that  would 
make  them  raise  their  noses  and  sniff.  Thank  Heaven 
the  Waloo  police  are  such  nuts !  Burglary  isn't  any 
job  for  a  woman  anyway.  You  know  it.  I  know  it.  It 
isn't  much  of  a  job  for  a  man,  either.  I'll  thank 
Heaven  when  I'm  safely  away  from  it  all." 

"So  will  I !"  was  John  Johnson's  fervent  interruption. 

"It  wasn't  my  fault  I  went  in  for  it,"  Smith  Jones 
went  on  absently,  "but  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
We  can  put  our  own  affairs  aside  for  the  present.  It's 
that  girl  and  her  aunt  we  must  think  of.  She  shan't 
be  a  Daisy  Donovan  nor  a  Light-fingered  Liz,  doing 
time  before  she's  twenty.  Of  course,  she  isn't  in  Daisy's 
class.  You  can  see  with  half  an  eye  that  she  is  one 
of  us,  a  lady,  if  ever  there  was  a  lady.  Both  of  them 
are  ladies — by  birth  and  breeding."  He  frowned  as  if 

129 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  fact  that  they  were  ladies  made  it  so  much  more 
difficult  to  understand.  "Great  Heavens !  haven't  they 
any  man  to  look  after  them?" 

"Don't  they  know,"  John  Johnson  asked  excitedly, 
"that  the  loot  and  excitement  of  stealing  are  more  than 
balanced  by  the  danger  and  punishment — for  women?" 

"Lord!"  Smith  Jones  thrust  out  his  hands  as  if  it 
were  incomprehensible  to  him  how  they  had  missed  that 
comparison  and  went  on  more  quietly.  "They're  safe 
here.  It  must  have  been  Providence  that  made  them 
turn  to  the  right  at  the  crossroads.  Nine  out  of  ten 
people  would  have  kept  on  the  country  road  and  gone 
to  Prussia  and  been  caught  red-handed,  with  the  roll 
in  their  pockets.  We  must  keep  them  here  until  it's 
safe  to  go  on.  Our  own  plans  can  wait.  I  don't  know 
— perhaps  she  won't  listen  to  us — but  we've  just  got 
to  do  our  best  to  help  Sallie  Smith  and  her  aunt  get 
across  into  Canada  and  then — then  she's  got  to  prom- 
ise to  give  it  up." 

"And  then?"  breathlessly  inquired  John  Johnson, 
who  was  finding  it  difficult  to  keep  up  with  his  friend's 
hurried  steps. 

"We'll  see  about  that  later,"  was  the  unsatisfactory 
reply.  He  broke  the  line  of  march  to  stop  and  peer 
out  of  the  window.  "I  hope  to  Heaven  it  pours  for  a 
week!"  he  murmured  fervently. 

"Amen,"  piously  responded  John  Johnson. 

130 


CHAPTER    IX 

SALLIE  slept  late  the  next  morning,  another  proof 
of  her  light  mind.  She  should  have  stayed  awake, 
as  Aunt  Martha  planned  to  do,  to  listen  for  a 
hand  on  the  door,  a  foot  on  the  threshold  and  a  stumble 
against  the  dresser.  But  she  did  not.  She  had  asked 
Smith  Jones  to  help  her  and  what  was  the  use  of  giving 
a  man  a  burden  to  carry  if  you  did  not  let  him  carry  it  ? 
That  was  not  Sallie  Waters'  way.  She  did  not  belong 
to  the  great  international  society  of  worriers  and  she 
saw  no  reason  to  join  it  now.  Not  because  she  agreed 
with  old  Samuel  Johnson's  scornful  statement  that  "to 
do  nothing  is  in  everyone's  power,"  but  because  she  had 
already  done  something,  a  whole  lot  of  something  in  her 
estimation,  and  so  she  slept  calmly  and  peacefully.  She 
did  not  even  dream  of  burglars. 

Even  after  she  was  awake  she  found  it  hard  to  open 
her  eyes  and  when  she  did  raise  the  lids,  which  seemed 
so  strangely  heavy,  she  looked  about  in  a  bewildered 
way.  Just  at  first  she  could  not  think  where  she  was. 

131 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Then  she  remembered  and  she  sat  up  suddenly  to  look 
at  the  top  of  the  dresser.  The  roll  of  bills  was  gone. 
So  was  Aunt  Martha.  Sallie  looked  at  the  vacant  place 
beside  her  and  at  the  empty  dresser  top  and  wondered 
if  the  two,  her  aunt  and  her  money,  had  gone  together. 

Of  course,  it  was  possible  that  in  the  night  Smith 
Jones  had  reconsidered  his  generosity  in  returning  her 
money  and  slipped  in,  soft  footed,  to  take  it.  She 
shivered  at  the  thought.  She  visualized  the  regular 
features  of  John  Johnson  and  the  irregular  ones  of 
Smith  Jones  and  knew  instinctively  that  neither  of 
them  had  stolen  from  her.  She  could  not  be  wrong  in 
her  judgment.  Men  like  Smith  Jones  and  John  John- 
son do  not  steal  from  women  who  are  under  their  pro- 
tection. She  was  positive  of  that.  In  no  way  did  they 
look  like  thieves,  but  when  she  tried  to  imagine  what  a 
thief  should  look  like  she  shook  her  tousled  head.  She 
had  no  idea,  she  had  not  one  thief,  so  far  as  she  knew,  on 
the  long  list  of  her  acquaintances  in  Europe  and  Amer- 
ica and  the  fact  hampered  her.  She  sighed  heavily. 
No,  it  was  too  much  for  her,  for  a  simple  convent-bred 
girl,  she  murmured  as  she  jumped  out  of  bed. 

Before  she  put  on  so  much  as  a  stocking  she  ran  over 
to  the  window  to  see  what  the  day  promised.  The  sky 
was  as  gray  as  a  maltese  kitten  and  the  rain  was  com- 
ing down  with  a  slow  and  steady  determination  that 
promised  to  be  endless.  It  was  a  most  discouraging 

132 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


prospect  for  a  motorist.  Sallie  sighed  again  as  she 
wondered  what  the  roads  would  be  like  after  a  rain  of 
twenty-four,  thirty-six  or  forty-eight  hours.  She 
gloomily  supposed  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  the 
Heavens  from  sending  down  rain  for  fifty-four  hours. 
Once,  she  remembered,  it  had  rained  for  forty  days. 
She  should  be  thankful  that  she  and  Aunt  Martha  were 
under  cover,  that  they  had  shelter  and  food  and  yes, 
pleasant  company.  She  giggled  at  the  thought  of  the 
pleasant  company  Aunt  Martha  was  to  enjoy  and 
leaned  further  out  to  say  good  morning  to  her  faithful 
roadster. 

The  faithful  roadster  was  not  there.  She  rubbed 
her  eyes  and  endangered  her  life  by  stretching  further 
out.  No,  there  was  no  roadster  of  any  kind  in  the 
driveway.  The  blood  rushed  to  her  face  in  an  angry 
flood  and  her  heart  thumped  furiously.  If  Smith  Jones 
or  John  Johnson  had  stolen  her  car !  She  did  not  care 
about  the  money,  they  could  have  that  if  they  were 
mean  enough  to  take  it,  but  her  Blue  Bird,  her  car  that 
had  grown  from  a  gallon  of  gasoline.  Gasoline!  The 
tense  line  slipped  from  her  lips.  She  was  so  sure  that 
there  was  no  gasoline  in  the  roadster's  tank.  It  slipped 
back  again  as  she  remembered  the  motor  boat.  Doubt- 
less the  men  had  gallons  and  gallons  of  gasoline  in  it. 
They  had  probably  filled  the  roadster's  tank  and  gone 
off,  perhaps  one  in  the  boat  and  the  other  in  the  car, 

133 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


leaving  her  and  Aunt  Martha  marooned  in  this  lonely 
cottage.  By  the  time  it  stopped  raining  and  they  could 
go  forth  on  foot  who  could  tell  where  the  thieves  would 
be?  It  was  too  provoking.  It  was  more  than  that,  it 
was  abominable.  It  was — Oh,  she  wouldn't  have 
thought  it  of  John  Johnson — nor  of  Smith  Jones.  The 
tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she  dressed  more  hurriedly 
than  she  had  ever  dressed  before. 

And  Smith  Jones  did  have  such  a  kind  face,  if  it  was 
irregular,  and  John  Johnson's  nose  was  like  a  Greek 
god's.  And  their  hands.  She  had  noticed  them  at 
once.  Smith  Jones'  hands  were  as  soft  and  supple  as 
those  of  a  surgeon.  She  supposed  a  thief  would  have 
to  have  sensitive  and  responsive  fingers  to  pick  locks 
and  safes  and  things.  Her  hair  snarled  and  she  combed 
it  viciously,  coiling  it  in  a  knot  low  on  her  head. 

She  did  not  think  twice  of  Aunt  Martha  as  she  made 
her  hurried  toilet.  Her  mind  was  too  full  of  Smith 
Jones  and  John  Johnson  and  Blue  Bird  and  gasoline  to 
leave  any  room  for  Aunt  Martha.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  until  she  opened  the  door  into  the  hall  that  the  men 
might  have  recognized  Aunt  Martha  as  the  wealthy 
widow  of  the  late  Judge  Joshua  Cabot  and  carried  her 
off  for  a  ransom.  The  thought  was  a  blow  in  the  face. 
She  lost  her  breath  completely  and  felt  faint  and  ill. 
Anyone  could  have  counted  sixty  twice  over  before  she 
was  able  to  pull  herself  together  and  run  down  the 

134 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


stairs.  She  stumbled  on  the  last  one  and  would  have 
fallen  if  someone  had  not  caught  her.  Lifting  her 
frightened  face  she  looked  directly  into  the  blue  eyes 
of  John  Johnson,  who  had  been  standing  in  the  open 
doorway  surveying  the  damp  landscape. 

"You — you!"  wildly  stammered  Sallie,  unable  to 
formulate  a  sentence  in  the  relief  of  seeing  at  least  one 
of  the  dastardly  creatures  she  was  in  search  of. 

"Good-morning,"  blithely  responded  Mr.  Johnson, 
quite  like  any  gentleman  to  any  lady  when  he  met  her 
in  the  hall.  "Didn't  hurt  yourself?  You  came  down 
those  stairs  like  a  whirlwind.  You're  the  only  pleasant 
thing  I've  seen  this  morning."  Voice  and  face  were  full 
of  admiration  as  he  gazed  at  "the  pleasant  thing." 
"Cheerful  outlook,  isn't  it?"  And  he  waved  one  of  his 
shapely  hands  toward  the  damp  gray  world  outside. 

Sallie  was  too  stunned  to  join  heartily  into  any  con- 
versation about  the  weather.  So  both  of  them  had  not 
gone.  Was  it  Smith  Jones  who  had  disappeared  with 
her  money  and  her  car  and — her  aunt? 

"My  aunt,"  she  managed  to  gulp. 

If  he  was  surprised  that  she  showed  so  much  emotion 
in  speaking  of  her  aunt  he  hid  the  fact.  "Your  aunt 
is  in  the  kitchen.  I  am  under  the  impression  that  she  is 
getting  breakfast." 

The  relief  of  hearing  that  Aunt  Martha  was  really 
in  the  cottage  was  so  great  that  Sallie  sat  suddenly 

135 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


down  on  that  lowest  step  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
She  wanted  to  cry,  she  wanted  to  laugh.  Aunt  Martha 
getting  breakfast?  Why  it  must  be  years  since  Aunt 
Martha  had  even  seen  the  apparatus  for  preparing  a 
meal.  Sallie's  eyes  opened  wider.  She  almost  giggled. 
Then  she  remembered  her  beloved  roadster  and  rose  to 
walk  to  the  open  door. 

"Why — why,  where's  my  ear?"  she  managed  to  put 
quite  a  bit  of  surprise  in  her  voice.  John  Johnson 
would  think  she  had  just  discovered  that  the  car  was 
missing. 

He  joined  her.  "Your  car?  Did  you  know  there 
wasn't  any  gasoline  in  the  tank?  You  were  in  luck  to 
make  this  place.  It  wouldn't  have  been  any  joke  to 
have  been  marooned  on  the  country  road  in  a  storm 
like  this.  I  fancy  your  aunt  wouldn't  have  done  much 
on  foot." 

The  thought  of  Aunt  Martha  plowing  over  the  heavy 
roads  in  the  midst  of  an  endless  downpour  might  have 
been  amusing  but  it  did  not  answer  Sallie's  question  and 
she  frowned.  "Where  did  you  say  the  car  was?"  she 
asked  frostily.  She  quite  expected  him  to  say  that  it 
was  on  its  way  to  Lincoln,  ten  miles  back,  or  to  Prussia, 
ten  miles  beyond.  She  could  not  but  feel  that  John 
Johnson  was  looking  at  her  strangely. 

He  was  looking  at  her  oddly.  He  was  trying  to  be- 
lieve in  the  story  that  Smith  Jones  had  poured  into  his 

136 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ears  the  night  before,  that  she  was  a  thief  and  that  Aunt 
Martha  was  a  thief,  also.  Sallie  did  not  look  like  a 
thief,  less  like  one  this  morning  in  her  middy  blouse 
than  she  had  last  night.  And  John  Johnson  knew  very 
well  how  thieves  should  look.  He  should  know,  he  told 
himself  grimly.  He  also  knew  that  there  are  as  many 
classes  in  crime  as  in  any  other  line  and  possibly  Smith 
Jones  was  right  and  this  girl  belonged  to  the  class 
which  is  known  as  society  thieves.  He  suddenly  became 
aware  that  whether  she  was  a  thief  or  not,  she  was 
waiting  for  him  to  speak  and  waiting  impatiently  for 
her  foot  tapped  the  floor  and  her  forehead  was  wrinkled 
into  a  frown. 

"Your  car?"  repeated  John  Johnson,  in  confusion. 
"Oh,  Jones  and  I  pushed  it  under  cover.  There  is  a 
shed  back  there,"  he  pointed  around  the  house.  "It 
seemed  a  pity  to  leave  a  nifty  little  car  like  that  out  in 
this  rain,  so  we  rolled  it  under  cover.  There  wasn't  any 
gasoline,  you  know." 

She  ran  along  the  porch  until  she  could  see  around 
the  house.  Yes,  there  was  a  shed  and  through  the  big 
open  door  she  could  see  the  glistening  mud-spattered 
back  of  her  car.  She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  that  came 
from  her  very  heels.  So  Smith  Jones  had  gone  off  in 
the  motor  boat  and  left  John  Johnson  to  detain  her 
and  Aunt  Martha  here,  afraid,  she  supposed,  that  they 
would  get  word  to  the  police.  Pooh!  She  elevated 

10  137 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


her  nostrils  scornfully.  No  power  on  earth  would  keep 
her  from  getting  word  to  the  police  if  she  wished  to. 
She  turned  about  and  bumped  into  John  Johnson,  who 
was  close  at  her  heel$. 

"This  must  be  an  attractive  place  in  decent  weather," 
he  began  pleasantly,  nodding  to  the  rain-soaked  shrub- 
bery and  the  old-fashioned  garden  where  the  belated 
zinnias  hung  their  gay  heads,  red,  yellow  and  pink,  in- 
stead of  lifting  them  to  be  washed. 

Sallie  did  not  care  to  discuss  houses  nor  locations  nor 
landscape  gardening  any  more  than  she  had  the  weather. 
There  was  but  one  more  thing  that  she  wished  to  know 
and  she  asked  a  question. 

"Where  is  Mr. — er — Jones?" 

"Jones?"  He  looked  surprised.  "He's  in  the  kitchen 
helping  your  aunt." 

Sallie's  face  went  as  blank  as  a  sheet  of  paper  but 
gradually  some  expression  returned  to  it  and  she 
laughed.  She  did  not  care  about  the  roll  of  old  bills. 
Her  roadster  and  her  aunt  were  safe,  she  had  not  been 
mistaken  in  her  judgment  of  Smith  Jones  and  John 
Johnson,  for  some  way  her  instinct  still  insisted  that 
they  had  not  robbed  her. 

John  Johnson  laughed  also  although  he  did  not 
know  why,  only  she  looked  so  jolly  when  she  crinkled 
her  eyes  and  her  nose  and  tilted  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  that  a  fellow  just  had  to  laugh.  If  she  was  a 

138 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallle 


thief,  of  course,  it  was  no  laughing  matter,  but  she  was 
the  prettiest,  the  j oiliest  thief  he  could  imagine.  He 
would  have  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Smith  before  they  parted. 
He  would  tell  her  in  plain  words  what  he  thought  of 
her  for  allowing,  for  encouraging  a  girl  like  Sallie  to 
rob  and  steal.  He  hoped  Jones  was  telling  her  now  and 
putting  it  strong.  He  knew  that  Jones  could  put  it 
strong  under  proper  provocation  and  surely  here  was 
proper  provocation. 

The  laughter  died  out  of  Sallie's  face  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  come  and  in  its  place  was  a  most  appealing  wist- 
fulness.  "Have  you  known  Mr. — er — Jones  long?"  she 
asked. 

"Long,"  he  repeated.  "We  were  in  prep'  school  to- 
gether. And  four  years  in  college." 

College?  Yes,  she  had  read  that  even  men  with 
a  college  education  sometimes  abandoned  themselves  to 
crime.  "And  now  you  are  in  the  same  profession,"  she 
ventured.  It  was  as  leading  a  question  as  she  cared  to 
put. 

He  nodded.  "Been  together  off  and  on,  mostly  on, 
since  we  were  kids." 

"It's,"  she  swallowed,  "it's  a  hard  profession,  isn't 
it?" 

"Hard?"  He  looked  surprised.  "You  mean  wear- 
ing?" 

"And  dangerous?"  she  suggested. 

139 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


He  considered  the  possibility  of  danger  in  the  work 
in  which  he  and  Smith  Jones  were  engaged  for  a  second. 
Yes,  there  might  be  a  slight  element  of  danger  and  he 
admitted  it.  "But  just  breathing  has  its  dangerous  mo- 
ments," he  reminded  her.  "There  have  been  people  who 
have  been  killed  while  taking  a  harmless  walk  down  the 
street." 

She  did  not  care  to  discuss  that  either  and  went  on 
with  her  catechism: 

"You  came  up  the  river  from  Waloo?" 

"We  did."  He  admitted  it  unblushingly.  "And  a 
great  trip  we  had  until  yesterday,  when  the  rain  caught 
us.  You  came  from  Waloo,  too,  didn't  you?" 

She  hesitated  and  again  she  was  troubled  by  that  in- 
ability to  depart  from  the  truth  in  time  of  stress.  She 
was  still  hesitating  when  an  exclamation  behind  her 
made  her  look  around  to  see  Smith  Jones  in  the  door- 
way, his  irregular  features  full  of  regular  reproach. 

"Good-morning  Miss — Smith."  He  paused  before 
he  spoke  the  name.  "I  put  the  eggs  on  to  boil  the 
minute  I  heard  your  door  shut.  I  naturally  supposed 
that  an  able-bodied  young  woman  could  make  the  din- 
ing-room in  at  least  three  minutes,"  severely. 

"Eggs !"  she  seemed  enraptured  at  the  thought.  She 
did  not  care  if  he  was  a  thief,  if  they  were  both  thieves, 
they  were  the  most  attractive  and  interesting  men  she 
had  met  for  many  a  day  and  she  was  storm-bound  with 

140 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


them.  She  was  going  to  forget  the  past  and  remember 
only  the  present  in  which  they  were  being  so  kind  and 
helpful.  She  was  going  to  remember  also  dear  Sister 
Clothilde,  who  had  begged  her  never  to  forget  that 
there  was  more  good  than  evil  in  everyone.  So  she  reso- 
lutely tucked  the  other  thought  in  a  mental  closet  and 
closed  the  door  on  it  and  beamed  at  Smith  Jones  and 
smiled  at  John  Johnson  so  that  neither  could  accuse  her 
of  partiality.  "You  haven't  any  idea  how  hungry  I 
am,"  she  confided  to  both.  "I  hope  Aunt  Martha  has 
cooked  a  lot  of  everything." 

Smith  Jones'  face  grew  scornful.  '"You  hope  I 
cooked  a  lot,  you  mean.  Your  Aunt  Martha  has  aided 
me  only  with  a  steady  stream  of  questions  concerning 
my  past  and  my  future.  I  am  proud  to  have  roused  so 
much  interest  and  in  spite  of  her  cross-examination  I 
have  provided  you  with  a  meal  that  could  not  be  rivaled 
in  any  first-class  cafe  in  the  country — in  the  world,"  he 
extended  the  territory  boastfully. 

Sallie  regarded  him  saucily.  "The  proof  of  the  pud- 
ding," she  reminded  him,  "is  in  the  eating." 

Aunt  Martha,  a  trifle  flushed  and  with  an  unusual 
glitter  in  her  usually  dull  eyes,  met  them  in  the  dining- 
room.  Sallie  tilted  her  brows  significantly  and  inclined 
her  head  toward  the  corner  where  the  dresser  in  their 
room  stood  but  Aunt  Martha  failed  to  understand  the 
signal. 

141 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallle 


"Anything  I  can  tell  you,  Miss  Smith?"  asked  the 
helpful  John  Johnson  as  he  drew  out  a  chair  for  her. 

She  turned  as  pink  as  her  aunt.  "I  won't  put  you 
to  the  test  now  although  I  am  consumed  with  curiosity 
to  know  whose  food  we  are  about  to  eat,  whose  bed  I 
slept  in  and  whose  cottage  we  are  making  ourselves  at 
home  in." 

"I  should  like  to  know  that,  also,"  Aunt  Martha 
said  eagerly  as  Smith  Jones  seated  her  at  the  head  of 
the  table  and  himself  took  the  foot.  "It — it  doesn't 
seem  right  for  us  to  help  ourselves  to  things  as  we  are 
doing." 

John  Johnson  shot  a  quick  glance  at  his  friend  but 
Smith  Jones  kept  his  eyes  on  the  bacon.  "I  don't  see 
as  we  had  any  choice,"  he  remarked.  "Not  even  the 
owner  of  this  imposing  residence  could  expect  us  to  sit 
out  in  the  road  or  the  river  in  the  rain  because  he 
wasn't  here  to  ask  us  in.  If  I  couldn't  have  picked  the 
lock  John  could  have  broken  a  window,  couldn't  you 
John?" 

"I  could  have  tried,"  modestly  replied  John  Johnson, 
as  if  window  breaking  was  a  feat  that  few  could  accom- 
plish successfully.  "I  have  gained  entrance  to  locked 
buildings  in  that  way  before." 

As  Smith  Jones  spoke  of  picking  locks  and  John 
Johnson  boasted  of  breaking  windows  Sallie  and  her 
aunt  looked  at  each  other.  Aunt  Martha  nodded  her 

142 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


head  as  if  only  such  remarks  were  needed  to  convince 
her.  Sallie  saw  a  question  lurking  on  Smith  Jones'  lips 
and  spoke  first. 

"That  was  the  way  I  got  in,  through  the  window." 

"You  did?"  It  was  Smith  Jones'  turn  to  look  sig- 
nificantly at  John  Johnson  and  he  did  so.  "Well,  if  I 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  be  the  owner  of  this  particular 
mansion  I'd  be  mighty  glad  that  you  did.  I'd  hate  my- 
self forever  if  I  had  locked  it  up  so  tight  that  you 
couldn't  have  gotten  in." 

"Oh,  I  rather  think  I  could  always  manage  to  get  in 
a  place  no  matter  how  tight  it  was  locked  up,"  Sallie 
remarked  easily. 

"Sallie!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Martha  in  surprise  and 
Sallie  colored  and  was  silent. 

Smith  Jones  put  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  gazed 
at  her.  "I  believe  you  could,"  he  said  at  last,  speaking 
most  reluctantly.  "John,  I  actually  believe  she  could," 
he  told  his  friend  as  if  Sallie  had  not  been  present. 

And  John  Johnson,  who  had  been  staring  at  Sallie, 
also,  agreed  with  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said  sadly,  "I  have  no  doubt  she  could. 
But  it's  a  dangerous  gift,  as  we  all  know,  to  be  able  to 
enter  places  that  have  been  locked  against  us.  Ask  the 
police  of  any  city  if  it  isn't." 

"Police."  Sallie's  voice  was  a  trifle  shrill.  "I'd 
rather  talk  of  the  weather  than  of  the  police." 

143 


CHAPTER   X 

AS  Aunt  Martha  and  Mr.  Jones  got  the  break- 
fast it  seems  only  fair,  Mr.  Johnson,  for  us  to 
clear  away,"  Sallie  suggested  when  everything 
eatable  had  been  eaten. 

Aunt  Martha  had  watched  aghast  the  inroads  of 
hearty  young  appetites.  She  had  given  herself  a  sur- 
prise by  making  a  breakfast  of  two  pieces  of  bacon,  an 
egg,  three  pieces  of  toast  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  Usually 
her  matutinal  meal  consisted  of  a  cup  of  tea  and  two 
square  inches  of  toast;  like  George  the  Third,  she  pre- 
ferred eating  little  and  plain  to  growing  diseased  and 
infirm.  But  appetites  are  contagious,  and  when  the 
others  ate  Aunt  Martha  ate,  also. 

John  Johnson  pulled  his  brown  forelock  and  endeav- 
ored to  remove  all  intelligence  from  his  countenance  as 
he  said  humbly:  "At  your  service,  miss." 

It  was  Smith  Jones  who  protested.  "But  that  isn't 
fair  to  Aunt  Martha,"  he  exclaimed  earnestly.  "She's 
had  a  steady  run  of  my  company  for  hours  and  hours. 

144 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


She's  bored  to  death  with  me,  aren't  you,  Aunt  Martha  ? 
I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  flushed  as  he  met  the  astonish- 
ment in  the  glances  of  Aunt  Martha  and  her  niece. 
"I  caught  that  from  Miss — Smith.  You  know  I  never 
had  an  aunt,"  he  exclaimed  pathetically.  "I  never  had 
a  sister  nor  a  girl  cousin.  I  suppose  I  had  a  mother, 
but  I  know  it  only  by  tradition." 

Aunt  Martha  looked  up  and  nodded  her  gray  head 
slowly.  "That  accounts  for  it,"  she  murmured  as  if, 
at  last,  she  had  found  the  solution  of  her  problem. 
She  believed  strongly  in  feminine  influence  and  was  not 
surprised  at  anything  a  man  who  had  been  deprived 
of  it,  would  do.  She  looked  pityingly  at  Smith  Jones. 
If  he  was  a  thief,  and  Sallie  said  he  was,  it  was  not 
his  fault.  The  blame  should  be  given  to  Providence  for 
placing  him  in  a  home  where  there  was  no  softening 
feminine  influence.  "You  may  call  me  Aunt  Martha," 
she  said.  It  was  as  if  a  queen  conferred  a  decoration, 
and  Smith  Jones  received  the  permission  in  the  same 
manner. 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  for  a  moment,  and 
Aunt  Martha  thrilled  to  her  marrow  bones,  wherever 
they  were.  To  think  of  letting  a  thief  call  her  Aunt 
Martha  and  hold  her  hand.  No  one  could  accuse  her 
of  being  narrow  and  unprogressive  now.  It  was 
enough  to  make  her  thrill  to  her  very  marrow  bones 
to  be  so  broad-minded.  For  sixty-three  years  all  she 

145 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


had  known  of  crime  she  had  read  in  the  newspaper  when 
she  remembered  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  news- 
paper. And  now,  here  she  was,  hand  in  hand  with 
crime  in  the  form  of  a  most  amusing  and  pleasing 
young  man. 

"You  are  bored  to  death  with  me,  aren't  you,  Aunt 
Martha?"  Smith  Jones  asked  hopefully. 

"Indeed  I'm  not."  The  sprightly  words  surprised 
no  one  as  much  as  they  did  Aunt  Martha.  "We  will 
go  in  and  sit  by  the  fire  and  let  the  others  earn  the 
meal  they  have  eaten."  And  she  let  Smith  Jones  draw 
back  her  chair. 

There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  follow  her  into 
the  living-room,  but  first  he  shook  an  expressive  fist 
at  John  Johnson  behind  her  stately  spine.  John  John- 
son laughed  triumphantly  as  he  gathered  a  handful  of 
dishes  and  carried  them  into  the  roomy  kitchen.  He 
knew  as  well  as  his  associate  how  to  proceed. 

"You  surely  would  be  a  handy  man  to  have  around 
a  home,"  Sallie  told  him  almost  enviously.  "I  thought 
men  in  a  kitchen  were  the  same  as  bulls  in  china  shops." 

"Some  men  are."  John  Johnson  endeavored  to  look 
modest.  "But  I've  camped  out  such  a  lot  that  I  know 
what  to  do  fairly  well.  I'll  wash  and  you  dry.  The 
good  Lord  never  intended  to  put  your  hands  in  dish 
water." 

"Didn't  he?"     Sallie  eyed  her  hands  speculatively. 

146 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Perhaps  you  are  right.  You  speak  with  confidence 
anyway.  I  wonder  where  you  think  the  good  Lord  did 
intend  to  put  them?" 

"Not  where  they  have  been,"  he  told  her  so  promptly 
that  her  eyes  opened  wider.  That  disconcerted  him. 
He  disliked  to  tell  her  flatly,  to  put  in  plain  words, 
that  her  hands  were  not  meant  for  picking  and  steal- 
ing. He  couldn't  tell  her  just  yet.  He  must  not  go  so 
fast  as  to  frighten  her.  He  would  gain  her  confidence 
slowly  and  perhaps  then  she  would  tell  him  all  about 
it  and  ask  him  to  help  her  as  she  had  asked  Smith 
Jones. 

So  while  he  washed  the  dishes  and  Sallie  dried  them 
he  told  her  stories  of  the  thieves  and  burglars  he  had 
met  or  read  of.  Bits  of  Gaboriau,  Sherlock  Holmes, 
Anna  Katherine  Green,  Le  Blanc,  Mary  Roberts  Rhine- 
hart,  incidents  gleaned  from  the  newspapers  and  from 
his  own  experience,  and  invariably  the  hero  or  heroine, 
and  it  was  amazing  how  often  it  was  a  heroine,  repented 
and  returned  to  her  place  in  society  or  was  caught  and 
suffered  agonies  of  remorse  and  fear  before  she  received 
her  punishment. 

The  dish-drying  progressed  but  slowly,  for  Sallie's1 
ears  were  more  active  than  her  fingers.  She  drew  a 
long  breath  after  a  particularly  harrowing  tale. 

"It's  horrid  to  be  in  a  police  court,  isn't  it?" 

John   Johnson  bent  lower  over  his   dish   pan   and 

147 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


prayed  that  he  might  be  given  the  intelligence  to  say 
the  right  thing.  He  must  not  startle  her  just  as  she 
was  on  the  verge  of  confidence.  He  was  sure  she  was 
on  the  verge  and  he  did  wish  to  help  her  safely  over. 

"It  is,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  he  were  making 
a  confession.  "Horrid!"  He  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  directly  into  her  eyes.  "But  what  does  a  little 
girl  like  you  know  of  police  courts?" 

She  colored  and  turned  her  eyes  away — in  embar- 
rassment, he  swore.  "More  than  I  like  to  remember," 
she  just  breathed  the  words. 

He  put  his  hand,  moist  and  red  from  hot  water,  on 
the  plate  she  was  drying.  "Tell  me  about  it?"  he 
begged. 

She  would  have  been  glad  to  tell  him.  She  fairly 
ached  to  tell  someone  of  her  experiences  since  she  had 
abducted  her  dignified  relative,  but  Aunt  Martha  would 
not  like  it.  She  had  to  think  of  Aunt  Martha,  so  she 
shook  her  head.  "Not  now,"  she  faltered. 

He  understood  her  to  mean  that  later  she  would  tell 
him  everything  and  he  smiled  encouragingly.  "Right-o. 
A  dish  pan  is  not  exactly  the  place  for  confidences. 
We'll  tell  each  other  the  stories  of  our  young  lives  over 
the  fire  while  Aunt  Martha  and  Jones  get  the  dinner." 

As  if  his  name  called  him,  Smith  Jones  appeared  on 
his  way  for  wood.  He  stopped  to  regard  them  with 
disapproval.  "I  am  glad  I  don't  have  to  pay  you  by 

148 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  hour.  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  to 
waste  so  much  good  time  on  a  few  dishes.  I'll  wager 
I  could  wash  them  up  alone  in  half  the  time — in  quarter 
the  time." 

"I've  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  shamelessly  responded  John 
Johnson.  "You  can  show  us  this  noon.  We  are  not 
aiming  to  establish  a  record.  Our  only  object  is  to  get 
through  in  time  for  you  to  use  these  dishes  again  at 
noon.  How  is  Aunt  Martha?" 

"Asleep,  poor  soul,  by  the  fire.  I  told  you  she  was 
fed  up  with  me.  I've  told  her  everything  I  know  and  a 
lot  I  don't  know,  but  still  she  couldn't  keep  awake." 

"Asleep,  poor  dear!"  murmured  Sallie.  "I  don't 
suppose  she  closed  her  eyes  last  night."  She  felt 
ashamed  to  remember  that  she  was  the  cause  of  her 
aunt's  wakefulness  and  how  soundly  she  had  slept. 

"Couldn't  sleep?  Why  couldn't  she  sleep?"  Both 
men  wanted  to  know. 

Sallie  flushed.    "Reasons,"  she  answered  vaguely. 

John  Johnson  looked  as  wise  as  Solomon  or  Solon 
or  both.  "Cats  can  never  sleep  in  strange  garrets," 
he  suggested.  "Well,  well.  We  mustn't  disturb  her." 

"We  won't,"  promised  Smith  Jones.  "As  soon  as 
you  are  through  here,  Miss  Smith,  I  should  like  your 
help  in  some  meteorological  observations."  He  made 
the  request  most  formally  and  Sallie  gazed  at  him  in 
exaggerated  admiration. 

149 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Mercy!  mercy!"  she  murmured.  "And  can  the 
likes  of  me  help  the  likes  of  you  at  a  thing  like  that?" 

"You  can.  Come  on,  now.  John  can  sweep  up. 
Mind  the  corners,  John,"  he  cautioned  sternly,  and  he 
stood  aside  for  Sallie  to  precede  him. 

First  she  had  to  slip  into  the  living-room  to  see  for 
herself  that  Aunt  Martha  was  asleep  before  the  fire. 
She  smiled  as  she  looked  down  at  the  gray  head  resting 
so  comfortably  against  the  red  pillow,  at  the  feet 
crossed  at  the  ankles  on  the  low  stool.  Smith  Jones 
had  made  her  very  comfortable.  She  looked  different 
in  some  way  to  Sallie  as  she  sat  there  with  her  eyes 
closed  and  her  hands  folded  so  placidly  on  her  lap. 
Aunt  Martha  had  for  so  long  held  herself  aloof  from 
the  world  that  she  had  acquired  an  air  of  exclusive  re- 
serve. That  seemed  to  have  disappeared  now,  she 
seemed  more  like  one  with  the  world  than  apart  from 
it.  A  lump  crept  up  into  Sallie's  throat  and  she 
stooped  and  softly  kissed  the  gray  hair  before  she 
joined  Smith  Jones,  who  had  watched  her  enviously. 

"It  is  damp.  You  will  need  something  around  you." 
He  brought  a  sweater  and  put  her  into  it. 

They  walked  around  the  wide  porch  that  encircled 
the  house  to  the  rear,  where  they  could  look  down  at 
the  Mississippi,  no  longer  a  bright  silver  ribbon  with 
bits  of  blue  borrowed  from  the  sky,  but  a  dull  leaden 
color.  The  cottage  was  perched  on  the  very  edge  of 

150 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  bluff,  a  stone  dropped  from  the  porch  would  have 
fallen  straight  into  the  river.  A  winding  path  led  down 
to  the  water  until  it  lost  itself  in  a  small  dock  beside 
which  stood  a  weather-beaten  boat-house.  On  either 
side  of  the  cottage  were  gardens,  flowers  on  the  right 
and  vegetables  on  the  left. 

Sallie  stood  and  looked  down  the  bluff  at  the  tangled 
mass  of  yellow,  red  and  brown  leaves,  dimmed  and 
blurred  by  the  dull  sky  and  the  rain  but  still  full  of 
color,  and  drew  in  her  breath. 

"What  a  heavenly  place!" 

"You  like  it?"  he  asked  eagerly.  "It's  lonely,  of 
course,  miles  from  anywhere  and  anybody." 

"But  that's  its  charm,"  Sallie  told  him  quickly. 
"You  don't  always  want  other  people  and  things  at 
your  elbow.  It  must  be  gorgeous  in  fine  weather,"  and 
she  put  her  hands  on  the  wet  rail  and  looked  off  across 
the  river. 

He  cleared  his  throat  twice  before  he  said:  "I  am 
glad  you  like  it,  for  you'll  probably  have  to  stay  some 
time." 

That  successfully  diverted  her  attention  from  the 
opposite  bank.  "Don't  you  think  it's  going  to  clear 
today?" 

"Whether  it  clears  or  not  I  think  you'd  better 
stay  on." 

"I  suppose  the  roads  will  be  bad,"  dejectedly. 

151 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Bad?  Impossible  for  you!  And  you  couldn't  find 
a  safer  place  than  this."  The  words  came  in  an  eager 
rush.  "No  one,  why  no  one  would  think  of  looking 
for  you  here,  and  after  a  few  days  John  and  I'll  help 
you  get  away." 

"Will  you?"  Her  face  brightened.  She  had  not 
heard  half  that  he  said,  but  she  caught  the  promise. 
"Will  you  let  me  have  gasoline?  You  know  the  tank 
in  my  car  is  empty." 

"We'll  get  you  gasoline,"  he  promised,  and  she 
clapped  her  hands.  "You  know,"  he  went  on  slowly, 
"last  night  you  asked  my  help — you  said  you  had 
something  to  tell  me,"  he  waited  for  her  to  tell  him. 

She  frowned  and  turned  her  eyes  again  to  the  drip- 
ping oaks  and  cottonwoods.  What  should  she  tell  him? 
"That  was  last  night,"  she  said  very  slowly.  "Today" 
— she  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  "Would  you  help  us 
if  I  told  you  nothing?  Could  you  trust  me?" 

"Trust  you?"  his  voice  trembled.  "No  matter  what 
you  did  I'd  trust  you !"  And  he  paused  for  her  to  say 
just  how  far  he  was  to  trust  her. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  Aunt  Martha,"  she  frowned. 

He  frowned,  also.  Aunt  Martha!  Of  course.  He 
would  have  to  let  her  see  that  he  would  help  Aunt 
Martha,  too,  have  to  let  her  know  that  he  could  under- 
stand. Lord,  if  any  man  could  understand,  he  could ! 
So,  like  John  Johnson,  he  told  her  stories  of  thieves  and 

152 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


burglars,  all  of  whom  repented  or  met  dire  punishment. 
Her  eyes  crinkled. 

"What  interesting  people  you  and  Mr.  Johnson 
know,"  she  sighed  covetously,  as  if  she  also  would  like 
to  have  a  friend  or  two  among  the  great  rogues  of  fact 
or  fancy. 

He  stopped  and  stared  at  her.  Surely  she  wasn't 
laughing  at  him?  He  had  an  odd  feeling  that  she  was, 
and  he  laughed.  He  wouldn't  be  laughed  at,  but  he  was 
glad  to  laugh  with  her. 

"Come,"  she  said  suddenly,  "this  porch  is  as  good  as 
the  promenade  deck  of  an  ocean  steamer.  We  must 
walk  our  mile."  She  would  have  started  off  briskly, 
but  she  slipped  on  the  wet  boards  and  threw  out  her 
arm  to  regain  her  balance.  The  sleeve  of  the  big 
sweater  caught  on  the  chain  that  crossed  Smith  Jones' 
waistcoat. 

"Steady.  Steady,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  release  you 
or  keep  you  captive?"  His  voice  was  not  quite  firm 
as  he  put  the  question. 

She  flushed  and  her  own  voice  sounded  very  far  away 
as  she  answered.  "You'd  find  it  mighty  inconvenient 
to  have  a  girl  as  a  watch  charm." 

"Delightful,  you  mean,"  he  corrected,  as  he  tried  to 
untangle  the  link  and  the  wool. 

She  watched  his  long  slender  fingers  and  admired 
their  deftness.  An  impatient  movement  on  his  part 

11  153 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


pulled   a  locket   from   the  pocket    on   the   right   and 
dangled  it  before  Sallie's  eyes. 

She  almost  screamed.  She  knew  that  locket.  At 
least  she  thought  she  did.  And  as  if  to  convince  her 
that  she  did  the  locket  swung  open  and  she  looked  into 
the  sweet  calm  eyes,  yes,  it  was  of  Aunt  Martha. 
Aunt  Martha  as  she  had  been  at  seventeen  when 
she  had  captured  the  heart  of  her  father's  friend, 
the  courtly  Joshua  Cabot.  No  wonder  Sallie  had 
difficulty  in  stifling  the  cry  that  rushed  to  her  lips. 
She  had  seen  that  locket  hanging  from  her  uncle's 
watch  chain  too  many  times  not  to  know  it.  She 
felt  choked,  helpless,  as  she  gazed  at  the  girlish 
face  from  which  the  hair  was  drawn  in  soft  bands, 
at  the  dimpled  white  shoulders  that  showed  above 
the  low  gown,  at  the  pure  white  neck  encircled  with  a 
string  of  seed  pearls.  There  wasn't  the  slightest  doubt 
that  it  was  Aunt  Martha.  Why,  Aunt  Martha  had 
given  her  that  very  string  of  seed  pearls  on  her  own 
eighteenth  birthday.  And  Smith  Jones  dared  to 
flaunt  it  in  her  very  face.  Hadn't  he  recognized  it? 
didn't  he  know  that  it  was  Aunt  Martha's  miniature? 
She  forgot  that  forty-six  years  changes  the  appear- 
ance of  all  women,  that  Aunt  Martha  of  sixty-three 
bore  little  resemblance  to  Aunt  Martha  of  seventeen. 
She  was  in  such  a  speechless  state  of  anger,  disappoint- 
ment and  yes,  disgust,  that  she  could  remember  noth- 

154, 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ing.  She  even  forgot  Sister  Clothilde  and  her  belief 
in  the  preponderance  of  good. 

Smith  Jones  felt  her  pull  from  him  and  looked  up 
solicitously.  "Did  I  hurt  you?"  And  as  she  did  not 
answer  he  went  on  cheerily.  "Another  minute.  There, 
you  are  free  and  no  damage  done." 

Sallie  refused  to  look  at  him.  Her  eyes  were  on  the 
locket  dangling  so  near  her  fingers.  "That's — that's 
a  pretty  thing,"  was  all  she  could  stammer. 

He  thought  she  was  embarrassed  and  spoke  sooth- 
ingly, as  if  to  a  child.  "That?"  he  had  the  audacity 
to  flirt  it  under  her  very  nose.  "It's  an  old  thing. 
Rather  odd,  isn't  it?"  And  without  waiting  for  a  reply 
he  put  it  back  in  his  pocket.  "Now  for  our  constitu- 
tional, our  mile." 

"Oh!"  She  couldn't  say  another  word.  She  could 
only  stare  at  him  in  horror  until  suddenly  she  felt  a 
great  desire  to  be  with  someone  who  was  what  she 
pretended  to  be.  She  had  a  dislike  to  cheats  and  thieves. 
She  broke  away  from  his  detaining  hand  and  ran  across 
the  porch  to  Aunt  Martha. 


CHAPTER    XI 

AUNT  MARTHA  was  still  dozing  before  the  fire 
as  placid  and  peaceful  as  if  she  were  in  her  own 
pink  room  in  Waloo.     The  black  kitten  was 
curled  at  her  feet  and  Sallie  picked  it  up  and  snug- 
gled it   against  her  face.     Her  lips  trembled   as   she 
wished  she  were  the  kitten.     Then  she  would  have  none 
of  these  perplexing  problems  to  solve.     It  didn't  matter 
a  catnip  leaf  to  the  black  cat  whether  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  were  thieves  or  not.     Mice  and  milk  were 
the  only  things  that  interested  pussy. 

With  the  kitten  in  her  arms  Sallie  drew  a  low  stool  to 
Aunt  Martha's  side,  she  could  not  get  close  enough  at 
that  moment,  and  sat  down.  With  her  chin  on  her 
clasped  hands  she  gazed  into  the  glowing  heart  of  the 
fire  and  wished  that  she  had  never  abducted  Aunt 
Martha.  It  looked  to  her  now  as  if  instead  of  giving 
Aunt  Martha  a  pink  geranium  or  a  red  poppy  she  was 
going  to  present  herself  with  a  wreath  of  black  immor- 
telles. She  wished  that  so  long  as  Uncle  Joshua  had 

156 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


wanted  her  to  obtain  her  education  in  France  he  had 
sent  her  to  the  Sorbonne  instead  of  to  a  convent,  then 
she  might  know  how  to  reason,  how  to  regard  in  a 
broad  open  way  the  situation  that  confronted  her.  She 
almost  wished  that  the  J.  P.  of  Prairieville  had  locked 
her  in  the  new  jail  for  then  she  never  would  have  been 
storm-bound  in  this  river  cottage,  she  never  would  have 
met  two  highwaymen.  She  had  to  confess  that  she 
liked  the  two  highwaymen,  liked  them  enormously.  If 
they  were  only  lawyers  or  doctors  or  even  bankers ; 
anything  but  thieves.  She  supposed  that  showed  how 
narrow-minded  and  old-fashioned  she  was.  But  if  only 
they  were  not  robbers.  She  went  over  her  evidence 
against  them.  The  newspaper  description,  the  many 
little  remarks  that  fitted  so  exactly  into  the  puzzle  she 
put  aside.  It  was  the  ring  and  the  locket  that  convinced 
her.  She  turned  faint  as  she  remembered  the  locket 
and  the  pleasant  face  of  Smith  Jones  as  he  bent  forward 
to  untangle  the  sweater.  Why,  why  couldn't  he  have 
been  something  but  a  thief !  And  John  Johnson.  She 
must  be  hopelessly  narrow  for  she  could  not  help  but 
have  a  prejudice  against  thieves.  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  were,  as  she  had  told  herself  many  times 
since  they  had  found  her  clinging  to  the  door  on  the 
porch,  the  most  interesting  men  she  had  met,  far,  far 
more  interesting  than  Dick's  financial  magnates,  than 
Phil's  social  workers  or  Stanley's  would-be  Bohemians. 

157 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


She  liked  them,  she  told  the  kitten,  she  did  like  them 
and  while  it  might  be  more  romantic  for  them  to  be 
burglars  she  wished  they  weren't.  It  would  be  very 
difficult  for  the  niece  of  the  late  Judge  Joshua  Cabot 
to  have  her  friends  among  the  criminal  class,  she  mur- 
mured with  trembling  lips. 

That  was  as  plain  as  print  and  so  Sallie  sat  beside 
the  fire,  a  very  sober  expression  on  her  face.  It  was 
one  thing  to  wish  to  have  adventures  and  quite  another 
thing,  a  vastly  different  thing,  to  know  what  to  do  with 
the  adventure  when  you  had  it.  She  had  thought  she 
was  capable  of  any  situation,  but  was  she? 

Aunt  Martha  felt  the  pressure  of  Sallie's  head  against 
her  knee  and  opened  her  eyes  slowly.  They  softened 
beautifully  and  her  lips  curved  to  a  smile  as  she 
saw  the  yellow  head  against  her  black  skirt.  She 
smoothed  the  roughened  hair  with  gentle  fingers  which 
Sallie  caught  and  drew  down  to  rest  against  her  cheek. 
She  did  not  feel  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in  Aunt 
Martha  but  she  was  all  she  had  and  she  clung  to  her 
although  for  the  life  of  her  she  did  not  understand  why 
she,  Sallie  Waters,  who  had  stood  alone  for  over  eighteen 
years,  should  wish  to  cling  to  anyone  now.  They  sat 
in  silence  for  several  minutes  and  it  was  Sallie  who  spoke 
first. 

"Aunt  Martha,  did  you  take  the  money  from  the 
dresser  this  morning?"  Her  voice  was  almost  a  whisper. 

158 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Yes,  my  dear,  I  did.  I  must  confess  that  I  was 
surprised  to  find  it  there.  I  was  positive  that  our  new 
friends,"  she  nodded  toward  the  dining-room  where  she 
fancied  her  new  friends  might  be,  "would  take  it  after 
what  you  said  but  they  didn't.  You  have  no  idea, 
Sallie,  how  it  relieved  my  mind  to  see  it  this  morning 
just  where  I  had  left  it." 

"What  did  you  do  with  it?" 

"I  gave  it  to  Smith.  He  has  asked  me  to  call  him 
Smith,  Sallie,  and  I  think  I  shall.  He  never  knew  his 
mother  and  he  never  had  an  aunt."  Aunt  Martha  would 
have  agreed  with  Jane  Austin  in  maintaining  the  im- 
portance of  an  aunt. 

Sallie  had  pulled  herself  away  and  was  looking  at  her 
with  eyes  as  big  and  bright  as  the  moon.  "What!" 
she  just  managed  to  gasp  that  word.  She  couldn't 
utter  another. 

"Yes,"  chirped  Aunt  Martha.     "I  gave  it  to  Smith." 

"You  gave  that  money,  all  the  money  we  have  with 
us  to  those  men !"  It  did  not  seem  possible  to  Sallie. 

Aunt  Martha's  serene  manner  never  changed.  "Yes, 
I  gave  it  to  him.  Your  Uncle  Joshua  used  to  say,  my 
dear,  that  no  matter  how  depraved  a  man  might  be 
there  was  always  a  strain  of  chivalry  in  him  to  which  a 
woman  could  appeal.  Smith  and  John  are  not  de- 
praved," she  was  very  decided  about  that.  "They  may 
have  been  wrongly  influenced  but  they  are  not  bad.  And 

159 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


I  thought  of  the  situation  this  way — here  we  are,  two 
defenseless  women,  with  a  roll  of  money,  almost  five 
hundred  dollars.  Here  are  also  two  men.  Sallie  de- 
clares they  are  professional  thieves.  If  they  are  we 
can't  prevent  them  from  taking  that  money  from  us. 
But  they  are  only  boys,  misguided,  wrong-thinking 
boys,  and  they  have  showed  their  chivalry  in  many  ways 
since  they  joined  us  here.  If  I  give  the  money  to  Smith 
I  make  a  plea  for  his  protection  and  perhaps  save  it 
for  us." 

"Why — why,  Aunt  Martha!"  It  would  have  been  a 
physical  impossibility  for  Sallie  Waters'  eyes  ever  to 
grow  any  larger  than  they  were  at  that  moment.  She 
stared  at  her  aunt  as  if  she  had  never  seen  her  before 
and  then  fell  weakly  against  the  black  serge  knee  and 
laughed  until  she  cried.  There  was  no  doubt  that  she 
and  Aunt  Martha  had  been  cut  from  the  same  piece  of 
cloth.  Their  methods  were  identical. 

"Aunt  Martha,"  she  began  chokingly,  "what  did 
Smith  say?" 

"He  was  very  kind."  Who  hadn't  been  kind  to  Aunt 
Martha  in  the  course  of  her  sixty-three  years?  "He 
understood  exactly  how  I  felt,  that  it  wasn't  safe  nor 
wise  to  carry  so  much  money  loose  in  a  pocket.  When 
I  spoke  of  hiding  it  he  thought  that  an  excellent  plan 
and  so  we  hid  it  together." 

"You  hid  it  together !"     Sallie  could  not  take  her  eyes 

160 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


from  her  aunt's  placid  countenance.  Sixty -three? 
Pooh !  She  could  not  be  more  than  five.  Even  a  five- 
year-old  would  have  doubts  about  intrusting  a  stick  of 
candy  to  one  who  stole  candy. 

"We  hid  it  together,"  repeated  Aunt  Martha,  well 
pleased  with  herself. 

"My  word!"  Sallie  sat  back  on  her  heels  and  looked 
at  her  again.  "Where  did  you  hide  it?"  she  wanted  to 
know. 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  tell  you  that,  Sallie,"  firmly. 
"The  hiding  place  will  be  a  secret  that  Smith  and  I 
shall  share.  I  don't  say  I  can't  trust  John  Johnson 
but  Smith,  as  I  told  you  last  night,  makes  me  think  of 
someone.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  trust  him  more  al- 
though I  really  acted  on  what  your  Uncle  Joshua  used 
to  say,  on  his  belief,  that  there  is  good  in  all  of  us. 
The  point  is  to  reach  the  good.  What  we  must  do, 
Sallie,"  she  put  her  hand  on  Sallie's  shoulder  and  spoke 
very  earnestly,  "is  to  influence  these  young  men.  It  is 
our  opportunity,  a  great  opportunity.  Perhaps  that 
was  why  you  ran  away  with  me,  why  we  are  taking  this 
trip  up  the  river,  we  are  to  be  the  instruments  which 
are  to  show  these  boys  that  they  have  a  wrong  idea  of 
life.  They  are  too  good,  too  fine,  to  remain  thieves. 
We  must  do  our  best,  Sallie,  in  the  time  we  are  together, 
to  reform  them." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Sallie.     She  had  never  thought  of 

161 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


that.  She  gazed  at  Aunt  Martha  with  admiration  this 
time.  What  a  stupid  she  had  been.  Of  course,  she  and 
Aunt  Martha  would  reform  Smith  Jones  and  John  John- 
son and  then  they  could  all  be  friends. 

"I  wish  Philip  were  here,"  sighed  Aunt  Martha. 

Sallie  shook  her  head.  She  did  not  wish  for  Philip 
nor  for  Richard  nor  for  Stanley.  Even  Stanley,  with 
his  Bohemian  views  of  life,  she  was  sure,  would  not 
understand  the  situation.  Anyone  of  the  Cabots  would 
pack  her  and  Aunt  Martha  back  to  Waloo  in  a  minute 
and  not  one  of  them  would  realize  the  necessity  of  re- 
forming Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson.  Not  even 
Philip.  She  shrewdly  felt  that  Philip,  like  many  an- 
other man,  dealt  with  problems  more  broadly  when  they 
did  not  touch  his  own  immediate  family.  No,  she  most 
certainly  did  not  wish  for  Philip. 

"He  told  me  something  of  prison  reform  work,"  Aunt 
Martha  went  on  thoughtfully.  "But  I  didn't  pay  much 
attention  to  him  then.  I  wasn't  interested.  But  now — 
Sallie,  when  we  get  back  I  must  send  a  good  contribution 
to  that  work !  I  feel  differently  toward  all  crime.  It 
hurts  me  to  think  of  young  men  like  these  two  in  prison. 
I  feel  that  nothing  we  could  do  for  them  would  com- 
pensate for  the  shame  and  the  disgrace." 

"But  if  they  break  the  law?"  suggested  Sallie,  a  bit 
bewildered  at  finding  Aunt  Martha  arrayed  on  the  side 
of  crime.  Of  course,  Aunt  Martha  hadn't  seen  the 

162 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


locket  dangling  from  Smith  Jones'  watch  chain,  she  had 
not  seen  Uncle  Joshua's  seal  ring  fall  from  Smith 
Jones'  pocket. 

Aunt  Martha  sighed.  "There  is  something  wrong 
about  the  law  when  two  young  men,  well-educated,  well- 
born, yes,  Sallie,  I  know  they  are  well-born.  I  haven't 
lived  among  people  who  are  well-born  for  sixty-three 
years  without  knowing  the  characteristics.  In  spite 
of  the  ridiculous  names  they  have  given  us  I  am  sure 
that  these  boys  belong  to  our  class.  That  is  what 
makes  it  so  awful  to  me.  Oh,  Sallie,  we  must  reform, 
them!  we  must!  before  we  leave  this  house.  Promise 
me  you  will  help  !" 

"Of  course  I'll  help."  Sallie  was  only  too  glad  to 
help  and  her  willingness  only  made  the  wrinkles  on  her 
forehead  deeper.  "But,  Aunt  Martha,  how  do  you  be- 
gin to  reform  a  man?"  She  was  as  serious  as  a  girl 
could  be. 

Aunt  Martha  was  serious,  also.  She  could  only 
sigh  and  wish  again  that  she  had  been  a  more  intelli- 
gent listener  when  Phil  had  talked  about  reforming 
men. 

"So  that  was  why  you  gave  Smith  the  money,"  Sallie 
said  slowly.  "I  remember  Phil  said  once  that  you 
simply  had  to  let  a  man  see  that  you  trusted  him  before 
you  could  expect  to  influence  him." 

"That's  it."     Aunt  Martha  was  delighted  to  learn 

163 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


that  she  had  acted  from  the  right  motive.  "That  is 
exactly  why  I  gave  him  the  money." 

"All  the  money  we  had,"  continued  Sallie.  "We 
haven't  enough  left  to  buy  a  gallon  of  gasoline."  She 
remembered  how  much  they  would  need  gasoline.  "If 
you  don't  reform  him,  Aunt  Martha,  we  shall  have  to 
spend  the  rest  of  our  days  here.  We  haven't  any  money 
to  get  away." 

"I  am  not  worried  about  getting  away,"  nor  was  she. 
"But  I  want  you  to  promise  me  to  trust  these  two  men, 
Sallie.  Promise  me  not  to  think  again  that  they  are 
thieves.  Empty  your  mind  of  all  suspicions  and  put 
trust  there  instead.  Then  we  can  do  something.  Re- 
member what  you  told  me  that  you  had  learned  at  the 
convent,  that  there  is  far  more  good  than  evil  in  the 
world." 

Out  on  the  porch  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson 
were  perched  on  the  rail,  regardless  of  the  wet. 

"She  confessed  to  me  that  she  had  been  up  before 
the  police  court,"  gloomily  murmured  John  Johnson, 
who  could  not  know  that  Sallie  did  not  know  the  differ- 
ence between  a  police  court  and  the  office  of  a  Justice  of 
the  Peace. 

"She  has !"  Smith  Jones  was  shocked  and  indignant 
to  think  of  Sallie  in  a  police  court.  "Well,  she  shan't 
go  up  again!"  he  spoke  firmly  and  the  line  of  his  chin 

164 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


was  like  a  rock.  "She  shan't  leave  this  place  until  she 
has  promised  to  stop  stealing.  She  can't  leave,  old 
man,"  and  he  grinned.  "Her  aunt  has  made  that  im- 
possible." The  grin  grew  into  a  chuckle  as  he  recalled 
with  what  trepidation  Aunt  Martha  had  come  to  him 
and  asked  him  what  she  should  do  with  the  roll  of  bills 
that  Sallie  would  carry  in  her  pocket.  "There  isn't  a 
place  in  the  country  where  they  could  be  as  safe  as  right 
here.  We're  all  safe  here  and  we'll  stay  here  until 
Sallie  Smith  and  her  aunt  promise  to  reform.  It's  all 
very  well  for  men  to  steal,  they  can  get  away  with  it, 
as  we  know,  but  it's  no  job  for  a  woman,  for  a  girl 
like  Sallie  Smith." 

"You  are  perfectly   all  right  there,"   agreed  John 
Johnson.     "It  is  not !" 


CHAPTER   XII 

IT  rained  for  five  days  that  September,  five  con- 
secutive days.     Sometimes  there  was  only  a  daw- 
dling drizzle  but  more  often  the  rain  came  down 
with  a  steady  determination  as  if  its  only  desire  was  to 
empty  the  reservoirs  at  once.     Not  one  moment  of  the 
five  days  dragged  to  the  people  in  the  cottage. 

Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie  were  too  occupied  in  trust- 
ing and  reforming  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  to 
be  bored  and  John  Johnson  and  Smith  Jones  were  too 
eager  to  convince  Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie  that  stealing 
really  was  not  a  proper  occupation  for  well-bred  women 
to  pursue  to  notice  how  Time  flew.  Devoutly  all  of 
them  thanked  Providence  each  morning  when  they 
opened  their  eyes  and  saw  that  the  rain  was  still  per- 
forming its  appointed  task. 

The  pantry  was  well  stocked  with  everything  but 
fresh  meat  and  if  Aunt  Martha  did  not  care  for  con- 
densed milk  there  was  a  novelty  in  obtaining  cream 
from  cans  instead  of  cows  and  she  never  complained. 

166 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


There  were  unharvested  vegetables  in  the  kitchen  garden 
and  John  Johnson  or  Smith  Jones  brought  in  tomatoes, 
beets  and  carrots,  lettuce  and  cabbages  and  with  them 
great  bunches  of  rain-washed  flowers  that  Aunt  Martha 
arranged  with  a  care  and  interest  she  had  never  given 
to  the  supply  of  flowers  left  regularly  by  the  florist 
at  the  Cabot  residence.  The  housemaid  attended  to 
them. 

It  was  while  she  was  arranging  some  pink  asters  that 
she  overheard  Smith  Jones  telling  Sallie  some  detective 
story  and  she  asked  him  to  repeat  it  to  her.  When  he 
had  finished  she  demanded  more,  hungrily,  as  a  child 
would  beg  for  bread  and  butter.  She  asked  Smith 
Jones  to  make  out  a  list  of  such  tales. 

"Your  uncle,"  she  looked  at  Sallie,  "never  liked  me 
to  read  anything  later  than  Meredith.  He  said  the  Vic- 
torian novelists  could  not  be  surpassed  and  it  was  crim- 
inal for  a  person  to  fill  his  mind  with  modern  trash 
when  there  were  always  Thackeray  and  Dickens  and 
Trollope  to  re-read." 

Sallie  remembered  the  contents  of  the  bookcase  in 
the  pink  room  in  Waloo  and  laughed.  "You'll  have 
quite  a  task  if  you  plan  to  catch  up  with  modern  fic- 
tion." 

"I  don't  care  to  catch  up  with  all  of  it,"  Aunt  Martha 
gravely  assured  her,  "but  I  should  like  to  look  at  books 
bearing  on  crimes.  I  am  doing  it  for  a  purpose,"  she 

167 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


explained,  but  only  Sallie  really  understood  the  pur- 
pose although  the  men  thought  they  did. 

Sallie  was  reminded  of  her  aunt's  desire  to  make  her- 
self congenial  to  the  people  she  met,  she  recalled  her 
request  for  a  list  of  books  on  Biblical  personages  from 
Philip.  Circumstances,  guided  unwittingly  by  Sallie, 
had  sent  her  into  the  companionship  of  two  young 
thieves  and  as  a  consequence  Aunt  Martha  wished  to 
read  up  on  crime,  to  take  a  course  on  thieves,  their 
work  and  punishment,  their  justification  if  there  was 
any  justification.  She  even  asked  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  to  explain  the  terms  she  did  not  under- 
stand. 

"Foxy  old  lady,"  Smith  Jones  told  John  Johnson. 
"She  thinks  she'll  throw  us  off  the  track  by  appearing 
innocent.  She  knows  as  well  as  we  do  what  "stall"  and 
"cop"  mean.  Isn't  she  the  picture  of  innocence?  You'd 
never  imagine  that  the  police  of  Waloo  were  scouring 
the  country  for  her.  She  looks  like  an  aristocrat  to  her 
finger  tips  which  only  goes  to  prove  that  you  can  trust 
anything  sooner  than  you  can  appearances." 

He  found  Aunt  Martha  a  volume  of  Sherlock  Holmes 
and  introduced  her  to  that  able  man. 

"It's  a  shame  you  never  saw  the  play,"  he  said  with 
regret. 

"Nor  'Raffles.'  That  was  a  corker,"  added  John 
Johnson.  "And  there's  'Jimmie  Valentine'!" 

168 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Why,"  Aunt  Martha  was  surprised,  "I  did  not  know 
that — "  she  hesitated  for  a  word. 

Smith  Jones  obligingly  found  one  for  her.  "Crooks," 
he  suggested. 

"That  crooks  occupied  such  a  prominent  place  in 
the  drama."  Aunt  Martha  had  a  proper  respect  for  the 
drama. 

"They  are  the  whole  thing,"  laughed  Smith  Jones. 
"You'd  never  believe  the  place  that  they  occupy,  not 
only  on  the  stage  and  in  books  but  in  society  as 
well." 

And  while  Aunt  Martha  read  and  studied,  applying 
the  theories  she  evolved  to  John  Johnson  and  Smith 
Jones,  Sallie  and  the  two  men  walked  the  wide  porches 
and  improvised  games  to  give  them  the  exercise  their 
young  bodies  craved.  Sallie  took  them  to  see  her  road- 
ster and  they  took  her  to  see  their  motor  boat.  It 
made  her  squeal  with  delight. 

"It's  a  love !"  she  exclaimed  fervently.  "I'd  give  any- 
thing to  have  one — anything  but  Blue  Bird,"  she  cor- 
rected hastily.  "I  think,"  thoughtfully,  "I'll  have  to 
get  one." 

John  Johnson  pinched  Smith  Jones'  arm  to  call  his 
attention  to  the  far  away  look  in  her  eyes  and  Smith 
Jones  frowned.  He  did  not  like  to  think  how  she  might 
be  planning  to  get  a  motor  boat  or  anything  else  that 
she  wished  to  have. 

13  169 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


They  pulled  taffy  and  popped  corn.  Smith  Jones 
tuned  the  old  piano  and  they  sang  college  songs  in  the 
firelight.  When  John  Johnson  broke  into  a  catchy 
"rag,"  Sallie  could  not  keep  her  feet  still.  She  had 
been  standing  by  the  window  gazing  out  at  the  gray 
world  and  whether  she  would  or  not,  her  feet  would  tap 
the  floor  until  she  swayed  unconsciously. 

"Here,  let  me  help  you  do  that."  Smith  Jones  was 
on  his  feet  and  had  his  arm  about  her  waist  before  she 
could  protest.  "Dancing  is  one  of  the  things  you  can 
do  much  better  with  a  partner,  you  know."  He  smiled 
into  her  startled  face  and  decided  that  a  small  nose 
never  looked  better  than  when  well  powdered  withi 
golden  freckles. 

She  sent  a  quick  questioning  glance  at  Aunt  Martha, 
but  that  worthy  chaperon  was  eagerly  unraveling  a 
criminal  mystery.  Sallie  had  done  her  best  to  obey  her 
aunt  and  empty  her  mind  of  everything  but  trust  and 
confidence  in  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson,  and  if 
she  was  going  to  reform  Smith  Jones  she  certainly  could 
not  keep  him  at  a  distance  so  she  let  him  teach  her  the 
new  steps.  They  had  not  been  a  part  of  the  course  of 
study  at  the  convent. 

Aunt  Martha  looked  over  the  pages  of  her  book,  the 
mystery  solved,  and  unconsciously  her  foot  tapped  time 
also.  Smith  Jones  saw  her  and  releasing  Sallie  he 
crossed  the  room  swiftly. 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Madame,"  he  bent  ceremoniously,  his  hand  on  his 
heart,  "will  you  honor  me?" 

Aunt  Martha  drew  back  quickly  and  a  dull  color 
crept  into  her  face.  "Oh !"  she  fluttered. 

Sallie  clapped  her  hands.  "Oh,  Aunt  Martha,  do. 
Uncle  Joshua  always  said  you  were  the  prettiest  dancer 
he  ever  saw.  Please — pretty  please,"  she  coaxed. 

John  Johnson  sounded  the  notes  of  a  stately  minuet 
and,  as  if  under  a  spell,  Aunt  Martha  rose  and  took  the 
hand  Smith  Jones  offered  her.  Her  eyes  were  bright, 
her  cheeks  still  flushed.  She  quite  forgot  that  she  was 
a  woman  of  sixty-three  as  John  Johnson  swung  into 
"Cecile,"  and  resigned  herself  completely  to  Smith 
Jones.  He  guided  her  skilfully. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  still  very  ceremoniously,  as  he 
led  her  to  a  chair,  "I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you 
that  you  have  just  danced  the  hesitation — a  form  of 
the  hesitation,"  he  corrected  himself  with  a  laugh. 

"Aunt  Martha  tangoing?  What  fun !"  Sallie  clapped 
her  hands  again. 

A  horrified  protest — "I  never!"  rose  to  Aunt 
Martha's  lips.  Why  she  did  not  even  know  by  sight 
the  new  dances  that  made  people  mad  or  scandalized. 
How  could  she  dance  them?  She  caught  the  twinkle  in 
Smith  Jones'  eyes,  the  laugh  that  curved  John  John- 
son's mouth  and  laughed  herself. 

"You  see  you  can  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks,"  was 

171 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


all  she  said  as  she  took  up  her  book  again  and  tried  to 
read  a  page  that  was  upside  down. 

Altogether  it  was  very  like  a  pleasant  house  party; 
indeed,  it  was  more  amusing  than  many  house  parties 
Sallie  had  attended  .  She  was  strictly  impartial.  If  she 
walked  with  Smith  Jones  she  read  with  John  Johnson. 
If  she  made  fudge  with  John  Johnson  she  washed  the 
dishes  with  Smith  Jones.  Aunt  Martha,  on  the  con- 
trary, made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  she  had  a  favorite. 
She  liked  them  both,  but  she  liked  Smith  Jones  the  bet- 
ter of  the  two. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  have  had  low  tastes  all  my  life 
and  never  knew  it  until  now?"  she  anxiously  asked 
Sallie  one  day. 

"If  you  have  low  tastes  then  I  have  them,  too,"  Sallie 
told  her  with  an  emphasis  that  should  have  been  com- 
forting, "for  I  adore  Smith  Jones  and  I  think  John 
Johnson  is  the  most  delightful  man  I  have  ever  met." 

Aunt  Martha  caught  her  breath  and  looked  at  her 
over  her  glasses.  Then  she  smiled  for  she  remembered 
that  extravagance  in  speech  was  one  of  Sallie's  charac- 
teristics. 

"If  I  thought  you  meant  one  word  of  that  Sallie 
Waters,  I'd  take  you  away  tonight." 

"I  wonder  how  you'd  do  it?"  asked  Sallie  eagerly. 
"We  wouldn't  make  much  progress  on  foot." 

Aunt  Martha  refused  to  answer  her.    What  was  the 

172 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


use  of  answering  a  giggling  girl  who  refused  to  take 
any  situation  seriously?  She  did  not  know  how  se- 
riously Sallie  took  the  present  situation.  Just  because 
a  girl  laughs  and  makes  extravagant  speeches  is  no  rea- 
son why  she  should  be  considered  incapable  of  thinkitg 
in  terms  of  anything  but  froth. 

Aunt  Martha  had  emptied  her  own  mind  of  every- 
thing but  trust  and  she  refused  to  discuss  Sallie's  sus- 
picions. "When  you  have  anything  definite  to  say  I 
shall  listen,"  she  told  her  flatly.  "But  it  is  a  waste  of 
time  to  question  and  speculate.  We  can  do  far  more  by 
remaining  passive  and  trustful  than  we  can  with  open 
argument." 

So  neither  of  them  said  a  word  to  Smith  Jones  or 
John  Johnson  but  each  did  her  best  to  influence  them  in 
her  way.  Aunt  Martha  begged  them  to  bring  down 
their  socks  and  let  her  darn  them.  It  was  years  since 
Aunt  Martha  had  darned  a  sock  for  anyone,  but  she  had 
the  old-fashioned  idea  that  the  sight  of  a  gray-haired 
woman  mending  their  stockings  would  appeal  to  the 
best  instincts  of  even  thieves. 

Before  they  brought  down  their  socks  both  men  took 
scissors  and  cut  little  holes  in  the  silk. 

"We  can't  disappoint  the  dear  old  soul,"  Smith  Jones 
said.  "And  the  only  holes  in  my  socks  are  the  ones  I 
get  into  them  by." 

They  played  bridge  also,  although  Sallie  knew  less  of 

173 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


cards  than  she  did  of  fox  trotting.  The  two  men  were 
willing  to  teach  her  anything  and  Aunt  Martha  smiled 
complacently.  The  trouble  with  Smith  Jones  and  John 
Johnson,  she  was  positive,  was  caused  by  the  lack  of 
proper  feminine  influence  in  their  lives.  The  com- 
panionship of  herself  and  Sallie,  of  two  gentlewomen, 
would  have  enormous  weight.  The  one  thing  she  re- 
called from  Philip's  talk  was  that  the  person  to  be  re- 
formed must  not  be  allowed  to  suspect  that  he  was  being 
reformed.  So  she  was  very  careful  not  to  let  Smith 
Jones  and  John  Johnson  suspect  and  she  joined  in  the 
games  when  she  could  and  when  she  couldn't  she  con- 
tinued her  study  of  criminology  as  laid  out  in  Gaboriau, 
Doyle  and  the  rest.  And  she  actually  found  it  a  stimu- 
lating change  from  the  rather  soothing  effects  of  the 
early  Victorian  novelists. 

It  was  Aunt  Martha,  herself,  who  proposed  bridge. 
Sallie  laughed. 

"You  play  bridge  with  cards,  I  believe,"  she  said. 
"And  I  haven't  seen  a  card  in  the  place." 

"We  can  find  cards,"  John  Johnson  told  her  prompt- 
ly. "We'll  put  old  Smith  on  the  trail.  He  has  a  pe- 
culiar eye,  Miss  Sallie.  He  can  see  behind  locked  doors. 
It's  an  invaluable  gift  in  his  business."  He  laughed. 
"You  just  see.  If  Aunt  Martha  wishes  to  play  bridge 
we  must  find  the  cards.  I'll  wager  Smith  produces  them 
at  the  first  attempt." 

174 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Smith  Jones  laughed,  too,  before  he  gazed  frowningly 
about  the  room.  He  shook  himself  as  he  rose  from  his 
chair  and  walked  over  to  a  small  colonial  table.  He 
pulled  out  a  drawer.  It  was  filled  with  packs  of  cards, 
neatly  arranged  in  rows. 

"You  see,"  John  Johnson  waved  his  hand  proudly. 
"The  eye  that  can  look  through  locked  doors." 

"My  word!"  murmured  Sallie.  And  as  something 
more  seemed  to  be  expected  of  her  by  the  laughing  men 
she  added  tremulously :  "I — I  should  think  it  would  help 
him  in — in  his  business." 

John  Johnson  had  a  table  cleared  and  the  chairs  ar- 
ranged before  anyone  said  "Jack  Robinson."  "What 
shall  the  stake  be?"  he  asked  idly. 

Aunt  Martha  looked  up  quickly.  She  had  never 
played  for  money.  She  knew  that  many  women,  most 
women,  did,  but  Judge  Cabot  had  always  said  that  there 
was  but  one  thing  worse  than  a  woman  who  gambled 
and  that  was  a  woman  who  smoked  and  drank.  She 
wondered,  a  bit  breathlessly,  what  Joshua  would  say 
if  he  could  see  her  now,  playing  cards  for  money  with 
two  thieves, — gentlemen  though  they  might  be. 
Joshua  always  had  been  so  particular  about  her 
friends. 

Sallie  wondered,  also,  as  she  gathered  her  cards  in 
her  hand.  And  what  would  Aunt  Martha  say  if  she 
knew  that  the  gentleman  thief  across  the  table,  her 

175 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


partner,  wore  her  miniature  in  a  locket  on  his  watch 
chain. 

Sallie  was  almost  discouraged.  No  matter  how 
thoroughly  she  emptied  her  mind  of  suspicion  something 
was  said  or  done  to  fill  it  again.  She  would  have  given 
the  world  to  have  been  able  to  go  to  Smith  Jones  or 
John  Johnson  and  ask  them  frankly  what  they  had  done 
with  the  silver  and  jewels  they  had  stolen  from  her  aunt ; 
if  they  really  were  the  burglars  who  had  robbed  the 
Cabot  residence.  But  she  could  not  do  it.  Many,  many 
times  the  words  got  as  far  as  her  lips  but  there  they 
stopped.  She  could  not  voice  to  Smith  Jones'  face  the 
suspicion  that  was  in  her  mind. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day,  when  she  was 
upstairs,  that  she  heard  the  black  kitten  in  the  room 
across  the  hall,  Smith  Jones'  room.  The  door  was  open 
and  she  looked  in  to  see  if  any  mischief  was  afoot.  She 
elevated  her  nose  at  the  masculine  disarray  but  ventured 
over  the  threshold  to  capture  the  kitten. 

As  she  passed  the  dresser  she  saw  a  locket,  the  locket 
she  had  seen  attached  to  Smith  Jones'  watch  chain. 
He  must  have  taken  it  off  for  some  reason.  Sallie 
thought  she  could  guess  what  that  reason  was  as  she 
took  it  up  and  looked  at  it.  There  was  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  the  miniature  was  of  Aunt  Martha.  The 
locket  had  belonged  to  her  uncle.  She  sighed  and  for- 
got all  about  the  kitten  as  she  gazed  at  the  girlish  face 

176 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


in  the  gold  frame.  She  could  not  be  mistaken.  There 
was  no  way  in  which  Smith  Jones  could  have  obtained  it 
unless  he  had  stolen  it.  She  stamped  her  foot. 

But  he  should  not  keep  it.  She  clutched  it  more 
tightly  and  ran  out  of  the  room,  forgetting  all  about 
the  black  kitten.  She  lifted  the  cover  of  her  motor 
trunk  and  thrust  the  locket  down  to  the  bottom.  Then 
she  closed  the  cover  and  sat  down  on  it  with  a  feeling 
that  she  found  impossible  to  analyze. 

Of  one  thing  only  was  she  sure.  She  had  one  of  the 
stolen  articles  back.  One  piece  of  her  aunt's  property 
had  been  recovered.  And  she  would  have  the  rest.  She 
wished,  Oh,  how  ardently  she  wished  now,  that  she  had 
kept  the  ring  when  she  had  had  it  in  her  fingers.  But 
she  would  get  it  again.  And  the  other  things.  She 
would!  It  was  all  very  well  to  talk  of  reforming  men 
but — but — her  lips  were  no  longer  curved.  They 
formed  a  firm  red  line  as  she  sat  there  on  her  trunk  and 
thought  what  she  would  do. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

SALLIE  WATERS  dropped  her  book  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  It  seemed  to  her  just  then 
that  it  had  rained  forever,  that  she  could  not  re- 
member when  the  skies  had  been  clear,  the  sun  shining ; 
and  that  it  would  continue  to  rain  forever.  She  counted 
twelve  rain  drops  as  they  raced  madly  down  the  window 
pane  before  she  threw  aside  her  book  and  went  to  the 
piano  to  play,  perhaps  by  way  of  contrast,  Mendels- 
sohn's "Spring  Song."  She  played  the  first  movement 
over  and  over  again  until  Aunt  Martha  looked  up  from 
her  book,  until  John  Johnson  stirred  in  the  big  wing 
chair  in  which  he  had  been  half  asleep  before  the  fire, 
and  until  Smith  Jones  came  downstairs. 

"Sallie,  Sallie,"  reproved  Aunt  Martha.  She  had 
been  taught  that  one  should  never  disturb  other  people. 

With  a  final  crashing  chord  Sallie  pushed  back  the 
bench.  "Aunt  Martha,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  dare  you  to 
go  fishing!" 

"Fishing?"    Aunt  Martha  looked  out  of  the  window 

178 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


at  the  dripping  landscape.  "Fishing.  In  this  rain?" 
It  was  ridiculous  to  accept  or  decline  such  an  invitation. 

"That's  the  very  reason  I  wish  to  go,"  pouted  Sal- 
He. 

"Waste  of  time,"  yawned  John  Johnson.  "The  fish 
won't  bite  today.  Better  play  checkers  with  me." 

Sallie  elevated  her  nose  scornfully.  "Checkers  is  a 
game  that  is  far  too  strenuous  for  me.  I  want  to  go 
fishing." 

"I'll  go  fishing  with  you,  Miss  Sallie,"  promised  the 
obliging  Smith  Jones. 

"You  can't  go,  Sallie,"  fussed  Aunt  Martha.  "You'll 
get  wet  and  catch  cold  and  there's  no  doctor !" 

"She  won't  get  wet,  Aunt  Martha,"  Smith  Jones 
had  a  kindly  promise  for  her,  also.  "We'll  stay  in  the 
boat-house." 

Aunt  Martha  shook  her  head  and  thought  of  what 
might  result  from  a  cold  and  no  doctor.  "It  is  very 
foolish,"  she  insisted.  "You  are  sure  to  get  wet." 

"I'm  sure  to  go  crazy  if  I  don't.  Take  your  choice," 
offered  Sallie  with  a  great  show  of  generosity. 

No  one  took  a  choice.  Even  Aunt  Martha  hesitated 
to  select  insanity. 

"Bet  you  don't  catch  so  much  as  a  minnow,"  prophe- 
sied John  Johnson  sleepily. 

"So  do  I,"  murmured  Aunt  Martha. 

Sallie  chuckled.    "I  refuse  to  bet  with  any  man  whose 

179 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


sporting  taste  leads  him  to  checkers,  but  I  don't  mind 
making  a  little  wager  with  you,  Aunt  Martha." 

"Take  her  up,  Aunt  Martha,"  begged  John  John- 
son. "Her  pride  needs  a  tumble.  Ever  since  she  made 
that  pudding  for  dinner  last  night  she  has  thought  she 
owned  the  earth.  Take  her  up.  You  can't  lose." 

"Oh,  can't  she?"  jeered  Sallie.  "I  seem  to  remem- 
ber a  certain  proverb  that  promises  the  best  laugh  to 
the  one  who  takes  it  last.  I'll  wager  a  Sallie  Lunn,  a 
double  rule  Sallie  Lunn  for  supper,  that  I  catch — at 
least  a  minnow." 

"I'll  hold  your  stake,"  eagerly  offered  John  John- 
son, whose  appetite  would  have  been  a  spur  to  any  cook. 
"Now,  Aunt  Martha,  what  do  you  put  against  a  double 
rule  Sallie  Lunn?  What  is  your  specialty?" 

Aunt  Martha  looked  mildly  startled.  What  was  her 
specialty?  At  a  moment's  notice  she  could  not  mention 
anything  that  she  did  especially  well.  Other  people 
always  did  for  her.  The  color  crept  into  her  cheeks  as 
she  realized  that  her  specialty  had  been  to  be  the  wife 
of  Judge  Joshua  Cabot.  Sallie  saw  the  uncomfortable 
flush  and  ran  across  to  kiss  her  cheek. 

"As  if  you  need  ask."  She  regarded  John  Johnson 
with  scorn.  "As  if  anyone  could  not  see  that  Aunt 
Martha's  specialty  is  to  be  pleasant  to  people — stupid 
people,"  she  emphasized  the  adjective  meaningly. 

"I  didn't  know  but  what  she  might  have  another." 

180 


/ 

Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 

John  Johnson  was  as  meek  as  Moses.  "She  can  be 
pleasant  to  me  while  you  and  Smith  get  wet  and  catch 
cold." 

"Don't  forget  to  put  on  your  rubbers,  Sallie,  and 
take  an  umbrella,"  Aunt  Martha  called  after  them.  She 
shook  her  head  as  she  rose  and  walked  over  to  the  win- 
dow. She  did  not  think  it  wise  to  go  out  in  the  rain 
unless  stern  necessity  sent  one.  It  seemed  foolish  when 
one  could  just  as  well  remain  dry  and  sheltered.  "I 
never  imagined  it  could  rain  like  this,"  she  murmured. 

John  Johnson  left  his  comfortable  chair  and  stood 
beside  her.  "It  is  coming  down  a  bit,  isn't  it?  The 
roads  will  be  soup.  Look  at  the  driveway." 

Aunt  Martha  looked  and  saw  that  the  driveway  was, 
indeed,  all  that  he  had  said  it  was.  "It  will  take  days 
to  dry  out."  There  was  dismay  in  her  voice  and  the 
expression  on  her  face  matched  it  perfectly. 

"It  will,"  he  agreed,  "but  what  do  you  care?" 

"I  wonder  if  I  do  care?"  she  questioned  slowly.  "We 
are  safe  here — and  cosy,"  she  added  hastily. 

"Yes,  you  are  cosy  and — safe,"  he  hesitated  over  the 
last  word  and  then  uttered  it  with  a  peculiar  signifi- 
cance, but  it  failed  to  bring  any  sign  of  guilt  to  Aunt 
Martha's  placid  countenance.  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. "Come  and  play  checkers  or  is  the  game  too 
strenuous  for  you,  also?" 

Minus    rubbers    and    umbrella   but   with   a   sweater 

181 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


instead  Sallie  started  gaily  down  the  path  to  the  boat- 
house.  She  slipped  at  the  very  top  of  the  bank  and 
only  the  quick  hand  of  Smith  Jones  saved  her  from  an 
ignominious  tumble. 

"You'll  find  it  pleasanter  to  go  down  on  two  feet  than 
one  nose,"  he  suggested  gravely,  but  his  eyes  twinkled. 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  laughed.  What  a 
pleasant  face  he  did  have,  she  thought.  Not  handsome, 
like  John  Johnson's,  but  interesting,  a  good  wearing 
every-day  face,  she  decided  before  she  ran  away  from 
him  and,  stumbling  and  sliding,  managed  to  make  her 
way,  unaided,  to  the  boat-house.  It  was  good  to  be 
out,  even  in  the  rain.  The  cottage  had  been  hot  and 
stuffy.  She  lifted  her  face  so  that  the  rain  fell  on  it 
and  took  a  couple  of  dancing  steps  to  the  edge  of  the 
dock  to  look  down  at  the  Mississippi. 

The  boat-house  was  a  weather  beaten  two-story 
affair,  half  on  the  bank  and  half  on  piles  in  the  river. 
There  were  no  boats  in  the  lower  part  where  boats 
should  have  been  and  the  upper  room  was  littered  with 
rubbish.  Smith  Jones  went  into  the  lower  shed  and 
threw  back  the  wide  double  doors  that  faced  the  river. 

"Better  come  under  cover,"  he  advised.  "No  good 
in  getting  wetter  than  you  have  to." 

"Granny,"  she  answered  but  she  danced  in  and  stood 
beside  him.  "My  word !"  she  murmured  as  she  saw  the 
view  framed  by  the  doorway.  Even  in  the  rain  it  had  a 

182 


Up  the  Hood  with  Sallie 


charm.  She  swung  around  and  looked  at  him.  "I  do 
love  the  world !"  she  drew  a  deep  breath.  "Even  wet  I 
love  it." 

"There  are  a  lot  of  people  who  prefer  it  wet,"  he 
told  her  as  he  found  a  couple  of  poles  in  a  corner.  "You 
can  fish  from  the  doorway.  The  rain  is  coming  the 
other  way." 

"Fishing  de  luxe.  But  don't  we  have  to  have  bait?" 
she  eyed  the  empty  hook  dubiously.  Even  to  her  inex- 
perienced eyes  it  needed  something. 

"It  is  advisable.  There  should  be  a  minnow  box — " 
He  found  a  half  submerged  box  attached  to  the  dock 
and  caught  a  dozen  minnows  in  a  net.  He  emptied  them 
into  a  tin  can  filled  from  the  river  and  brought  it  in,  the 
rain  drops  glistening  on  his  brown  hair.  "Here's  your 
bait." 

He  might  have  performed  a  miracle  from  the  admira- 
tion with  which  she  regarded  him.  "How  ever  did  you 
know  the  minnows  were  there?"  She  yearned  to  hear. 

"Most  river  people  keep  a  box  of  bait  in  the  river," 
he  answered  carelessly.  How  modest  he  was.  "Help 
yourself." 

She  offered  him  her  hook.  "You  put  one  on.  I — 
I  can't  bear  to  touch  them.  I  don't  mind  holding  the 
pole  but  I  do  despise  putting  on  bait  and  taking  off  the 
fish.  Tell  me  when  it's  on."  She  screwed  her  eyes  shut 
so  that  she  would  not  see  the  hideous  operation.  "It 

183 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


seems  so  unfair  to  the  minnows,"  she  murmured  when 
she  opened  them  again. 

"They  have  never  complained,"  dryly.  "There  you 
are.  Now  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  avoid  catching  a 
black  bass  under  nine  inches,"  he  advised  as  he  threw 
her  hook  out  into  the  river. 

"Why?"  Sallie  Waters  always  wanted  to  know  why 
and  why  not. 

"The  game  warden'll  catch  you  if  you  do.  You 
wouldn't  want  to  be  arrested  by  a  game  warden?" 

"I  should  hate  to  be  arrested  by  anyone."  The  very 
thought  chased  the  laughter  from  her  face  and  she 
watched  the  float  on  her  line  with  sober  eyes. 

He  bit  his  lip.  Now  what  on  earth  had  possessed 
him  to  speak  of  arrest?  He  might  have  known  it  would 
be  a  disagreeable  word  for  her  to  hear.  And  he  had 
brought  her  to  the  boat-house  to  be  amused,  not  both- 
ered. He  tried  to  think  of  something  to  say  that  would 
bring  the  laughter  back  to  her  eyes  when  she  helped 
him  by  twisting  around  to  ask  why  a  game  warden 
should  wish  to  arrest  her  if  she  caught  a  black  bass  that 
measured  less  than  nine  inches  from  the  tip  of  the  snout 
to  the  fork  of  the  tail. 

"Against  the  law,"  he  explained.  "There  are  game 
and  fish  laws  in  this  state." 

She  sighed.  "There  are  so  many  things  that  are 
against  the  law."  She  looked  up  at  him  as  he  came  to 

184 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


sit  beside  her  and  throw  his  line  so  that  his  float  was 
only  a  few  feet  from  her  float.  "You  know  a  lot  about 
the  law,  I  suppose?" 

"Well,"  he  spoke  slowly  for  if  she  was  going  to  be 
confidential,  if  at  last  she  was  going  to  consult  him  he 
did  wish  to  say  the  right  thing.  "It  is  to  my  advantage 
to  know  something  of  it." 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  frowned.  Yes,  undoubtedly  it 
would  be  to  his  advantage  to  know  something  of  the 
laws  he  broke.  She  stole  another  glance  at  him  to  dis- 
cover that  he  was  looking  at  her  instead  of  at  his  line. 
Immediately  her  eyes  flew  to  the  tip  of  her  rod  and  her 
face  flushed.  That  made  her  furious.  Why  should  she 
feel  conscious  because  Smith  Jones  looked  at  her?  To 
be  sure  she  knew  why.  It  was  because  he  was  a  thief. 
She  was  not  accustomed  enough  to  meeting  men  of  his — 
his  profession  to  be  easy  in  their  presence,  but  it  made 
her  furious  and  she  moved  her  rod  up  and  down  rest- 
lessly. 

He  watched  her  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye.  He  did 
wish  that  she  would  trust  him.  She  should  know  by 
this  time  how  much  he  wanted  to  help  her,  but  how  on 
earth  could  he  help  her  if  he  did  not  know  what  she 
wished  to  do? 

She  kept  her  eyes  on  the  Mississippi  and  considerable 
water  flowed  by  before  either  of  them  spoke. 

"It  seems  a  long  way  to  Canada,  doesn't  it?"  he  re- 

13  185 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


marked  at  last.  The  words  sounded  casual  enough  but 
inwardly  Smith  Jones  was  decidedly  nervous. 

"Canada!"  Why  should  he  speak  of  Canada?  And 
then,  in  a  flash,  she  knew.  Of  course,  he  and  John  John- 
son were  on  their  way  to  Canada,  the  refuge  for  crim- 
inals. She  knew  little  of  extradition  laws  but  she  under- 
stood that  people  who  broke  the  laws  went  to  Canada  if 
they  could,  that  they  were  safe  there.  It  did  seem  a 
long  way  to  the  border  and  she  sighed  before  she  said: 
"It  does.  How  long?" 

"Almost  across  a  state."  And  he  told  her  the  num- 
ber of  miles  approximately  and  the  fact  that  he  knew 
the  number  confirmed  her  in  her  suddenly  evolved 
theory. 

"One  would  be  safe  in  Canada?"  she  ventured  to  say 
and  the  tremble  in  her  voice  convinced  Smith  Jones  that 
he  had  guessed  right,  that  Sallie  and  Aunt  Martha  were 
on  their  way  to  the  border.  "I  mean  on  account  of  the 
war,"  she  added  hurriedly,  as  she  surprised  an  odd  ex- 
pression on  his  face. 

He  knew  she  meant  nothing  of  the  sort.  "Yes,  one 
would  be  safe  there."  He  hesitated  before  he  went  on: 
"John  and  I  are  on  our  way  to  Canada."  He  waited 
to  hear  her  say  that  she  was  glad,  that  they  could  all 
make  the  trip  together,  but  she  did  not  seem  as  sur- 
prised as  he  had  expected.  Perhaps  John  had  said 
something. 

186 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  slowly.  "You  think  it  is  best?" 
She  did  not  dare  to  look  at  him  as  she  asked. 

"I  know  it  is  best."  He  had  not  a  doubt  and  his 
voice  showed  it. 

She  said  nothing  more  and  for  a  few  minutes  there 
was  no  sound  but  the  beating  of  the  rain  on  the  roof, 
the  ripple  of  the  water  against  the  dock.  They  seemed 
very  much  alone  in  the  world  down  in  the  old  boat- 
house.  It  was  very  odd  and  very  pleasant.  Sallie  was 
rather  puzzled  to  feel  so  comfortable  and  happy  with 
a  man  who  had  done  what  Smith  Jones  had  done.  He 
evidently  felt  comfortable  and  happy  also  but  when  he 
put  the  fact  in  words  she  started  nervously. 

"Funny  the  way  we  were  brought  together  and  kept 
here  by  the  storm,  isn't  it?" 

"You  believe  in  Fate,  don't  you?"  She  did.  No 
other  belief  would  explain  the  situation. 

"I  believe  in  the  Fate  that  brought  us  together."  He 
admitted  that  much. 

"I  wonder  why?"  thoughtfully. 

"I  think  I  know."  He  was  sure  he  did,  it  was  to  take 
care  of  her  and  see  that  she  did  not  reap  the  harvest 
that  wrongdoing  generally  produces.  He  was  old- 
fashioned  enough  to  think  that  women  need  protection 
more  than  the  franchise.  Sallie  had  read  him  right 
that  first  evening. 

The  confident  way  in  which  he  spoke  made  her  flush 

187 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


again  and  she  was  glad  when  a  pull  on  her  line  sent  her 
to  her  feet  with  a  shriek. 

"I  have  one!  I  have!  In  spite  of  that  John  John- 
son, I  know  I  have !" 

"Pull  it  in,"  advised  Smith  Jones,  doubtfully. 

But  when  Sallie  saw  her  hook  she  discovered  that  the 
quantity  was  minus,  not  plus,  and  another  minnow  had 
to  be  sacrificed.  She  was  sadly  disappointed. 

"Oh,  dear,  do  you  suppose  John  Johnson  was  right, 
that  the  fish  won't  bite  today?" 

"The  rain  has  stirred  up  the  river  so  they  have  had 
plenty  to  eat,"  he  explained,  "but  don't  be  discouraged. 
You  know  when  it  is  always  darkest?" 

"Yes  and  what  has  a  silver  lining  but  neither  of 
those  wise  sayings  will  put  a  fish  on  my  hook  and  enable 
me  to  cover  that  handsome  friend  of  yours  with  con- 
fusion." 

"John  is  a  good-looking  chap,  isn't  he  ?" 

She  thought  he  was  envious.  "Handsome  as  a  Greek 
god."  She  said  it  so  that  it  sounded  as  if  his  good  looks 
counted  against  rather  than  for  John  Johnson.  "Ai 
man  doesn't  need  beauty,  you  know,"  cheerfully. 

"What  does  he  need?"  He  put  down  his  rod  to 
hear. 

"Truth  and  courage  and  loyalty  and,"  she  hated  to 
say  it  but  she  did,  "honesty."  She  kept  her  eyes  on  her 
float  as  she  uttered  that  last  word. 

188 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Doesn't  a  girl  need  any  of  those — nothing  but 
beauty?"  His  voice  was  low,  also. 

"You  tell." 

"I  think  she  does — truth  and  courage  and  loyalty 
and,"  he  hesitated  as  she  had  done,  "honesty." 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  as  hard  for  a  man  to  be  honest  as  a 
woman,"  she  sighed  and  colored  a  bit — with  guilt,  he 
thought. 

"Just  as  hard,"  he  frowned.  "I  could  tell  you." 
She  caught  her  breath  and  waited  to  hear.  But  he 
shook  his  head.  "It's  no  good  to  think  of  unpleasant 
things  when  there  are  so  many  pleasant  ones  to  talk  of. 
Tell  me  of  your  convent." 

She  told  him  about  it  and  about  Sister  Clothilde  and 
Sister  Genevieve  and  their  belief  in  the  goodness  of  the 
human  race  but  she  did  not  say  they  were  in  France 
and  he  thought  of  them  as  in  Canada.  And  then  he 
told  her  of  the  preparatory  school  where  he  had  gone 
before  he  was  ten.  They  seemed  to  derive  some  strange 
satisfaction  from  the  fact  that  both  had  been  orphaned 
at  an  early  age. 

"Of  course,  I've  had  a  grandfather  and  a  grand- 
mother and  an  aunt."  She  seemed  grieved  that  Provi- 
dence had  been  so  much  more  generous  to  her  than  to 
him. 

"Well,  I  had  an  old  nurse  who  spoiled  me  as  much  as 
any  grandparents  or  aunt  could  have  done,"  he  boasted. 

189 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"At  the  same  time  I  have  felt  forlorn.  Friends  can't 
always  take  the  place  of  relatives." 

"I  suppose  you  have  loads  of  friends?" 

"Not  so  many  but  I  should  like  one  more — Miss 
Sallie." 

She  could  not  mistake  the  eager  wistfulness  in  voice 
and  face.  Impulsively  she  dropped  her  rod  and  held 
out  her  hand.  "I  should  like  to  be  your  friend,"  she 
said  sweetly. 

It  was  not  until  he  held  her  hand  in  both  of  his  that 
she  remembered  that  he  had  done  what  would  make  it 
very  hard  for  her  to  be  his  friend.  But  she  did  like 
him  and  when  a  girl  liked  a  man  she  did  wish  to  be  his 
friend.  And  if  he  admitted  her  to  his  friendship  per- 
haps then  she  could  help  him.  One  mistake  should  not 
be  allowed  to  spoil  a  man's  whole  life. 

Smith  Jones'  eyes  glowed  as  he  took  her  fingers.  "I'd 
rather  have  you  for  my  friend  than  anyone  in  the 
world,"  he  said  very  softly  and  he  added,  even  more 
softly:  "Sallie." 

Again  that  wave  of  consciousness  rushed  over  Sallie 
and  made  her  uncomfortable,  impatient,  but  at  the  same 
time  she  was  happy  in  an  odd  sort  of  way  that  she  did 
not  understand.  It  must  be  the  satisfaction  of  doing 
good,  she  decided  when  she  could  formulate  a  thought 
which  was  not  until  John  Johnson  hailed  them  from  the 
bank. 

190 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"A-hoy !  Fishermen,  a-hoy.  Aunt  Martha  wants  to 
know  how  many  fish  she  will  have  for  supper?" 

Sallie  snatched  her  fingers  from  the  warm  clasp  that 
held  them  and  looked  about  wildly.  The  two  fishing- 
rods  had  disappeared.  She  could  see  them  bump  against 
the  dock  before  they  started  on  a  journey  down  the 
river. 

"How — how  wasteful,"  she  murmured.  She  cleared 
her  throat  before  she  called  to  John  Johnson:  "You 
are  not  going  to  have  fish  for  supper !  You  are  going 
to  have  a  Sally  Lunn !" 


• 


CHAPTER    XIV 

BEFORE  she  opened  her  eyes  on  the  sixth  morning 
Sallie  Waters,  lazy  little  lie-a-bed,  knew  that 
the  sun  was  shining  and  shining  with  all  of  his 
might  and  his  main  as  if  to  show  the  world  what  a  sun 
really  could  do.     The  light  fell  warm  and  bright  on 
Sallie's  closed  eyelids  so  that  she  knew  what  to  expect 
when  she  opened  them.     But  instead  of  smiling  at  the 
shining  sun  and  telling  him  how  very  glad  she  was  to 
see  him  after  his  long  absence  she  frowned  and  even 
shook  her  fist  at  him. 

To  tell  the  truth  she  was  not  glad  to  see  him.  Like 
you  and  me  she  hated  to  leave  a  bit  of  work  unfinished 
and  she  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  reformation 
of  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  could  not  yet  be  re- 
garded as  a  finished  task.  Sallie  had  always  under- 
stood that  there  must  be  a  confession — Phil  made  so 
much  of  a  confession — and  neither  Smith  Jones  nor  John 
Johnson  had  whispered  to  Aunt  Martha  or  to  Sallie  a 
word  of  their  crimes  nor  confided  what  caused  them  to 

192 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


take  up  a  life  that  was  not  in  accordance  with  the  law. 
And  there  had  been  no  restitution,  another  important 
feature  in  the  reformation  of  a  thief.  Consequently 
these  men  could  not  be  considered  as  reformed  and  should 
not  be  left  in  their  present  half-baked  condition.  They 
had  been  influenced,  Sallie  was  sure  of  that,  as  she 
frowned  at  friendly  old  Sol  from  her  bed.  Certain 
lights  in  Smith  Jones'  eyes,  certain  tones  in  John  John- 
son's voice  told  her  that  they  had  been  impressed,  but 
if  she  and  Aunt  Martha  went  away  now  it  was  inevitable 
that  the  men  would  return  to  their  old  lawless  way  of 
thinking  and  living. 

Sallie  had  not  a  very  high  opinion  of  herself  as  a 
reformer.  She  did  not  know  the  rudiments  of  reforma- 
tory work,  she  could  only  be  pleasant  and  friendly  and 
show  that  she  trusted  people.  Indeed,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, that  when  she  was  with  Smith  Jones  or  John 
Johnson  she  forgot  all  about  their  need  of  reformation 
unless  some  word  from  them  reminded  her.  She  was 
too  well  amused  but  when  she  was  away  from  them — 
ah,  then,  she  could  only  plan  and  wish  and  hope.  It 
was  not  Christian  nor  humanitarian  nor  anything  else 
not  to  plan  and  wish  and  hope  to  help  an  erring  fellow 
creature  she  had  told  herself  more  times  than  she  could 
count. 

It  was  old  Sol's  fault,  of  course,  if  she  and  Aunt 
Martha  went  away  with  their  reformatory  work  un- 

193 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


finished.  If  the  rain  had  continued  no  one,  not  even 
the  most  exacting  owner  of  a  cottage,  would  expect 
two  women  to  go  forth  in  the  storm  and  run  the 
danger  of  drowning  on  the  high  road.  But  with  the 
sun  shining  warm  and  bright  on  the  wet  roads  and 
drying  them  with  really  horrid  rapidity,  that  same 
owner  would  have  every  right  to  expect  his  uninvited 
and  unknown  guests  to  journey  on.  There  was  no  pos- 
sible reason  or  excuse  for  them  to  remain  another  day, 
Sallie  thought  rather  gloomily  as  she  dressed.  As  soon 
as  Smith  Jones  gave  her  a  gallon  of  gasoline  and  re- 
turned the  five  hundred  dollars  he  had  aided  Aunt 
Martha  to  hide,  and  the  silver  and  jewels  he  had  stolen 
they  would  leave.  She  did  not  like  to  think  of  the 
conversation  she  would  have  to  have  with  Smith  Jones 
first. 

Her  face  was  very  sober  as  she  closed  the  door  and 
went  down  the  stairs.  In  the  kitchen  she  could  hear 
Aunt  Martha  making  herself  congenial  to  the  two  men 
by  conversing  pleasantly  of  Lecoq  and  Arsene  Lupin 
and  Sherlock  Holmes.  If  it  were  raining  Sallie  would 
have  giggled  to  hear  her  Aunt  Martha,  who  had  for- 
merly confined  her  conversation  to  solid  citizens,  high 
dignitaries  and  bishops,  show  such  an  intelligent  interest 
in  rogues  and  detectives,  but  with  the  sun  shining  sh«. 
could  not  giggle. 

Enveloped  in  sunshine,  Aunt  Martha  was  enthroned 

194 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


in  a  big,  old-fashioned  rocking-chair  beside  a  window, 
the  black  kitten  on  her  knee.  On  the  table  Smith  Jones 
was  comfortably  perched,  dangling  one  foot  and  hold- 
ing the  other  knee  in  his  clasped  hands.  John  John- 
son was  playing  watch  dog  to  four  pieces  of  toast  while 
several  burned  and  blackened  bits  upon  the  table  gave 
uncontradictory  evidence  that  he  had  let  his  attention 
wander  and  consequently  was  not  a  good  watch  dog. 
He  saw  Sallie  first  and  waved  a  welcoming  knife. 

"Well!"  he  cried  jubilantly.  "Hail  to  Merry  Little 
Sunshine !" 

"She  doesn't  look  very  merry,"  commented  Smith 
Jones,  as  he  jumped  to  the  floor  to  say  good-morning. 

"She  doesn't  feel  very  merry,"  Sallie  admitted  as  she 
crossed  the  room  to  drop  a  kiss  on  Aunt  Martha's 
cheek  and  to  pat  the  black  kitten. 

Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  regarded  Aunt 
Martha  with  open  envy.  They  could  not  understand 
how  she  remained  so  unmoved,  so  placidly  calm,  under 
such  a  royal  gift.  But  Aunt  Martha  only  smiled  at 
Sallie's  sober  face. 

"Headache?'  she  questioned,  patting  the  brown  hand 
that  was  smoothing  the  kitten's  coat.  "I  was  afraid 
of  that  when  you  would  drink  so  much  coffee.  Too 
much  coffee  at  night  always  made  your  uncle  bilious," 
she  explained  as  if  that  was  any  reason  why  it  should 
make  Sallie  Waters  bilious. 

195 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Now  no  girl  likes  to  be  accused  of  being  bilious,  es- 
pecially in  the  presence  of  two  young  men,  and  Sallie 
knew  very  well  that  her  sober  face  was  not  due  to  coffee. 
Pooh!  she  could  drink  half  a  dozen  cups  without  its 
affecting  her.  But  as  she  did  not  care  to  explain  why 
it  was  that  she  did  not  look  like  merry  sunshine  she  let 
Aunt  Martha's  charge  stand  unchallenged. 

"Perhaps  that  is  it,"  she  even  said.  She  spoke  ab- 
sently and  she  looked  out  at  the  sunny  garden  where 
the  belated  blossoms  seemed  to  have  put  on  new  frocks, 
the  old  clothes  they  had  worn  yesterday  were  not  half 
as  bright  as  the  red,  yellow  and  purple  gowns  they  had 
donned  this  morning.  The  sun  fell  on  her  own  yellow 
hair  and  made  of  it  a  shining  halo  for  her  sober  face. 
Neither  Smith  Jones  nor  John  Johnson  could  tear  his 
eyes  from  her  until  a  shriek  from  Aunt  Martha  reminded 
John  Johnson  that  he  was  playing  watch  dog  to  four 
pieces  of  toast. 

"You  must  not  forget  that  is  the  last  loaf  we  have/' 
Aunt  Martha  told  him  severely.  Wanton  waste  should 
never  go  unrebuked. 

"Never  mind."  John  Johnson  ruefully  eyed  the 
scorched  bread.  "It  has  stopped  raining.  We  can  go 
into  Prussia  and  buy  bread,  buy  all  the  bread  we  want." 

"Yes,  the  sun  is  shining  and  we  can  go  on  our  way," 
Sallie  said,  as  she  scraped  the  charred  surface  from  a 
piece  of  toast. 

196 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Go !"  Three  faces  brim  full  of  surprise  turned  to- 
ward her.  Dismay  was  mixed  with  astonishment  on 
two  countenances. 

"Go.  To  be  sure,"  repeated  Sallie,  her  eyes  on  her 
work.  "You  didn't  expect  to  stay  here  forever,  rain 
or  shine,  did  you?"  she  jeered.  "A  nice  story  you'd 
have  to  tell  the  owner  when  he  came  back." 

"The  owner  will  be  all  right,"  Smith  Jones  promised 
her  emphatically.  "And,  honest,  it  isn't  safe  to  go 
yet.  The  roads  won't  be  properly  dry  for  days." 

She  looked  at  him  before  she  looked  out  of  the  window 
where  Sol  told  her  that  he  was  doing  his  very  best  to 
dry  the  roads  in  the  shortest  possible  time  and  that 
he  never  needed  days  to  do  it. 

"They  will  be  dry  enough  by  noon,"  she  prophesied. 
"John,  if  you  scrape  another  crumb  from  that  toast 
you  won't  have  anything  left  but  a  crust."  She  took 
it  from  him  and  placed  it  with  the  other  pieces  on  a 
plate.  She  peered  into  the  coffee  pot  before  she  Lifted 
it  and  carried  it  and  the  toast  into  the  dining-room. 
John  Johnson  followed  with  the  bacon.  He  walked  like 
a  somnambulist. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "You 
aren't  really  thinking  of  going  on  today?  Honest,  it 
isn't  safe!" 

"Honest,  it  isn't  safe — to  stay !"  she  mimicked.  "Do 
think  of  the  poor  owner.  We've  eaten  all  of  his  pro- 

197 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


visions,  we've  burned  his  wood,  we've  made  ourselves 
very  much  at  home  at  his  expense  and  even  if  we  do  leave 
money  in  the  'ginger  jar'  he  would  have  a  right  to  be 
disgruntled  if  we  didn't  go  on  as  soon  as  we  could.  Do 
think  of  the  owner,"  she  begged. 

"I  am,"  he  told  her  promptly.  "That's  why  I  urge 
you  to  stay.  He  wants  you  to— or  would  want  you 
to,"  he  stammered.  "Any  owner  would  be  glad  to  fur- 
nish shelter  to  a  girl  and  her  aunt  when  they  were 
caught  in  a  storm.  And  a  few  days  more  or  less — 
what  difference  do  they  make?  We  can  just  fill  the 
'ginger  jar,'  as  you  call  it,  a  little  fuller.  Come  on, 
Sallie,  be  a  good  girl  and  promise  not  to  go  today?" 
he  implored.  "Smith  and  I  will  help  you  away  later. 
I  swear  we  will !" 

But  in  spite  of  his  earnest  manner  and  pleading  face 
Sallie  shook  her  head.  "We  must  go  today,"  she  in- 
sisted with  a  determination  that  made  him  drop  into  a 
chair  and  tell  her  that  he  was  disappointed  in  her,  that 
he  had  never  been  so  disappointed  in  a  girl  in  his  life. 
Sallie  found  it  easy  to  laugh  at  him  then  and  she  called 
Aunt  Martha  and  Smith  Jones  in  from  the  kitchen  to 
laugh  at  him,  also. 

For  five  days  they  had  had  the  j  oiliest  kind  of  meals 
three  times  each  day,  but  that  morning  of  the  sixth  day 
a  dark  cloud  seemed  to  hover  over  the  table  and  even 
the  shining  sunbeams  could  not  penetrate  it.  Sallie 

198 


"Two  men  had  driven  to  the  gate. 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


did  her  best  to  furnish  sprightly  conversation,  the  others 
made  her  feel  so  heavily  responsible  for  the  dark  cloud, 
but  no  one  would  help  her.  No  one  had  much  appe- 
tite either.  Perhaps  no  one  cared  for  scorched  toast, 
perhaps  they  were  tired  of  condensed  milk  and 
bacon. 

"I  loathe  the  sun,"  Smith  Jones  said  suddenly,  break- 
ing an  oppressive  silence  with  a  bang,  and  he  shook 
his  fist  at  the  yellow  orb. 

"Smith!"  reproved  Aunt  Martha.  She  should  have 
told  him  what  the  sun  means  to  the  world,  how  de- 
pendent people  are  upon  old  Sol's  doing  his  appointed 
work  and  shining  with  all  of  his  might  and  his  main  but 
she  did  not.  Perhaps  she  realized  how  useless  the  little 
lecture  would  be. 

Sallie's  eyes  sparkled  for  the  first  time  since  she  had 
opened  them. 

"I  prefer  the  rain  myself,"  she  said.  "A  j  oily  steady 
downpour.  Well,"  she  sighed,  "this  experience  is  over." 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  looked  from  John  John- 
son to  Smith  Jones.  "Will  you  help  me  get  the  car  out 
after  we  have  washed  up,  Smith?"  She  would  talk 
to  him  then. 

Smith  Jones  did  not  answer  her.  He  was  staring 
out  of  the  open  window  that  looked  down  the  driveway. 
Without  even  glancing  at  Sallie  or  asking  Aunt  Martha 
to  excuse  him  he  abruptly  left  the  table  and  went  to 

199 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


that  window.  Sallie  followed  him.  He  should  not 
escape  her  now. 

Two  men  had  driven  to  the  gate.  They  were  the 
first  human  beings  the  four  had  seen  since  they  had 
entered  the  cottage.  It  seemed  odd  to  see  them  at 
first.  Sallie  watched  them  curiously  as  they  argued 
some  question  before  one  of  them  took  a  yellow  card 
from  under  the  seat  of  the  mud-splashed  buggy  and 
tacked  it  to  the  post  on  the  left  of  the  gate. 

"What  do  you  suppose  that  means,"  curious  Sallie 
wanted  to  know  at  once.  "Do  you  suppose  one  of 
those  men  is  the  owner?  Is  the  place  for  sale?" 

For  the  second  time  Smith  Jones  failed  to  answer 
her,  for  the  shorter  of  the  two  men  was  coming  up  the 
driveway.  He  had  a  second  card  under  his  arm,  a 
hammer  in  his  hand,  and  was  whistling  bravely.  With  a 
muttered  exclamation  Smith  Jones  went  to  the  door. 
Sallie  trailed  after  him.  So  did  Aunt  Martha  and  John 
Johnson. 

"Good-morning,"  Smith  Jones  called  pleasantly. 

The  shorter  man  stopped  and  stared  at  the  little 
group  before  he  waved  his  hands.  "Git  back !"  he  bel- 
lowed. "Git  back,  all  of  you !" 

"Get  back,"  repeated  the  amazed  Smith  Jones. 
"What  do  you  mean  ?  Who  are  you  ?" 

"You  git  back,  away  from  me,  that's  all  I  ask  of  you," 
retorted  the  stranger,  who  had  reached  the  steps.  He 

200 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


took  the  card  from  under  his  arm  and  held  it  against 
the  post.  He  snatched  a  couple  of  tacks  from  his 
pocket  and  nailed  the  card  in  place.  It  was  a  yellow 
card  and  Sallie  called  the  attention  of  her  aunt  to  the 
color. 

"Our  enemy,"  she  whispered  gleefully. 

As  soon  as  the  shorter  man  had  made  the  card  fast 
he  backed  away  until  he  was  half-way  to  tRe  gate.  John 
Johnson,  who  had  been  staring  at  him  in  profound 
astonishment  ran  down  the  steps  so  that  he  could  read 
the  big  black  letters  that  adorned  the  yellow  card. 

"Well,  for  the  love  of  Mike!"  he  exclaimed  and  he 
turned  to  stare  at  the  man  who  had  nailed  it  to  the  post. 

"What  is  it,  Jack?"  asked  Smith  Jones  sharply. 

John  Johnson  did  not  answer  him.  He  couldn't,  he 
was  incapable  of  speech.  Smith  Jones  went  to  see  for 
himself.  So  did  Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie. 

There  on  the  porch  post  in  big  black  letters  on  a  yel- 
low ground  was  but  one  word : 

SMALLPOX 


14 


CHAPTER   XV 

SMALLPOX!"  echoed  Smith  Jones. 
"Smallpox !"  murmured  Aunt  Martha  and  Sal- 
lie  more  feebly. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  putting  that  card  there?" 
Smith  Jones  suddenly  demanded,  and  he  advanced  al- 
most threateningly  toward  the  stranger,  who  backed 
away  from  him.  "What  do  you  mean  ?" 

."That's  what  I'd  like  to  know,"  echoed  John  Johnson, 
drawing  a  deep  breath.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

After  that  first  faint  outburst  Aunt  Martha  and 
Sallie  said  never  a  word.  They  were  too  amazed  for 
speech,  but  they  were  not  too  startled  to  feel  a  horrid 
suspicion  that  might  develop  into  an  awful  fear  if  that 
man  did  not  take  down  the  card  and  go  about  his  busi- 
ness. Suppose  there  had  been  smallpox  in  the  cottage? 
Suppose  that  was  the  reason  it  had  been  deserted  with 
a  full  pantry,  with  even  the  bread  box  full  of  freshly 
baked  loaves,  and  a  small  black  kitten?  They  had 
wondered  many  times  why  the  owner  had  gone  away 

202 


Up  the  Road  with  SaUle 


in  such  apparent  haste,  and  if  smallpox  was  the  reason 
— Aunt  Martha  shivered  and  drew  closer  to  Sallie. 
Sallie  shivered  also.  She  disliked  the  thought  of  small- 
pox even  more  than  her  aunt,  but  the  mischief,  if  there 
was  any  mischief,  was  done,  and  all  they  could  do  was 
to  await  the  future.  And  while  they  were  waiting  they 
could  listen  to  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  as  they 
talked  to  the  stranger,  who  had  retreated  to  a  safe 
distance. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  posting  a  notice  that  there 
is  smallpox  here?"  Smith  Jones  insisted  on  having  his 
question  answered. 

"Because  there  is  smallpox  here,"  stubbornly  re- 
torted the  man.  "There's  a  bad  case  an*  you  know  it. 
We  ought-a  have  been  out  before  to  quarantine  you 
but  we  figered  you  couldn't  git  away  in  the  storm  an* 
nobody'd  git  to  you,  so  the  county  wasn't  runnin'  any 
risks  an'  we  waited  for  the  rain  to  let  up." 

"Smallpox  here!"  Smith  Jones'  voice  sounded  dazed 
instead  of  threatening.  He  looked  at  John  Johnson 
and  at  Sallie  and  at  Aunt  Martha.  Not  one  of  them 
showed  a  trace  of  being  a  bad  case  of  smallpox.  He 
had  not  a  trace  of  smallpox  himself,  he  was  positive. 
It  was  ridiculous  to  make  such  a  charge.  Perfectly 
ridiculous. 

John  Johnson  was  telling  the  stranger  how  ridicu- 
lous it  was  in  unmistakable  terms.  He  insisted  that 

203 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


they  did  not  have  smallpox,  that  there  was  no  one  in 
the  cottage  but  the  four  bewildered  people  on  the  porch, 
and  he  scornfully  asked  if  any  of  them  looked  as  if 
they  had  the  smallpox.  He  requested  the  stranger  to 
kindly  look  at  them  and  judge  for  himself. 

But  the  stranger  refused  to  judge.  He  only  shook 
his  head  and  insisted  that  there  was  a  bad  case  of  small- 
pox in  the  cottage  and  consequently  they  were  in  quar- 
antine and  would  have  to  stay  there.  The  law  said  so. 

John  Johnson  lost  his  temper  then.  "You  fool!" 
he  shouted;  "you  have  got  to  believe  me.  Here,  you 
come  and  go  over  this  house  and  see  for  yourself 
whether  we  are  lying  or  not.  Then  you  can  tear  down 
your  loathsome  card  and  get  out!" 

"Me  go  in  that  house !  go  in  where  there's  smallpox !" 
The  stranger  turned  pale  under  the  red  mask  the  sun 
had  placed  over  his  face.  "Not  on  your  life !"  He  had 
reached  the  gate  and  was  shouting  his  defiance  in  a 
loud  voice.  "And  stay  right  where  you  are.  If  one 
of  you  tries  to  get  away  I'll  shoot."  He  patted  his 
pocket  suggestively.  "You're  in  quarantine,  y'  under- 
stan',  in  quarantine!  and  you've  gotta  stay  in  quar- 
antine for  ten  days.  We'll  bring  you  anything  in  rea- 
son, but  you  can't  git  out  an'  you  can't  communicate 
with  anyone.  If  you  try  it  you'll  get  shot  down  and 
jailed." 

Jailed.     It  was  a  word  to  send  a  strange  look  to  the 

204 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


four  faces  turned  toward  him.  No,  not  one  of  them 
cared  to  be  jailed.  Aunt  Martha  looked  at  Sallie  mean- 
ingly and  Sallie  nodded.  They  would  not  do  anything 
to  make  it  possible  for  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson 
to  be  brought  into  contact  with  the  police.  Smith  Jones 
and  John  Johnson  were  not  yet  reformed  and  even  if 
they  were  Aunt  Martha  had  made  up  her  mind  to  help 
them  evade  the  law  and  obtain  a  fresh  start. 

Smith  Jones  had  looked  at  John  Johnson  and  the 
latter  had  understood  the  glance.  Ten  more  days  in 
the  safe  seclusion  of  the  cottage,  if  they  could  have 
them,  would  only  make  it  safer  for  the  girl  thief  and 
her  aunt.  No  one  would  come  to  the  cottage  with 
unpleasant  inquiries  as  long  as  that  yellow  card  was 
on  the  porch  post.  And  in  ten  days — kingdoms  have 
been  made  in  less  than  ten  days.  They  grinned,  they 
had  no  objection  to  being  in  quarantine  so  long  as 
Sallie  and  Aunt  Martha  were  in  quarantine  with 
them. 

Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie  noticed  the  self-satisfaction 
in  the  faces  of  the  men,  they  would  have  to  have  been 
blind  to  have  missed  it,  and  drew  their  own  conclusions. 
They  smiled  also,  tremulously,  and  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  knew  why.  It  might  be  unpleasant  to  be 
in  quarantine  with  the  sun  shining  and  the  roads  dry- 
ing, but  it  would  be  far  more  unpleasant  to  be  in  jaiL 

Just  why  the  cottage  was  under  suspicion  of  harbor- 

205 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ing  a  case  of  smallpox  they  could  not  imagine,  nor 
would  the  men  on  guard  at  the  gate  tell  them.  The 
guards  seemed  loath  to  hold  any  conversation  with  them 
at  close  range,  and  one  cannot  obtain  much  information 
at  long  distance.  They  insisted  that  there  was  a  case 
of  smallpox  at  the  cottage,  that  they  had  been  ordered 
by  Dr.  Reilly,  the  health  officer,  to  come  out  and  es- 
tablish a  quarantine.  Their  names  were  Tim  Murphy 
and  Peter  Larson,  and  they  were  to  alternate  in  watch- 
ing the  cottage.  If  the  cottagers  would  promise  on 
their  Bible  oaths  not  to  attempt  to  break  the  law  it 
would  make  it  easier  for  them.  Larson  would  go  back 
to  Prussia  and  bring  out  supplies,  food  and  medicine, 
but  only  verbal  messages  could  be  sent  by  him. 

It  was  bewildering.  Larson  and  Murphy  were  so 
firmly  convinced  that  the  four  looked  at  each  other 
questioningly,  as  if  suspicious  that  smallpox  was  con- 
cealed about  them.  Then  Sallie  threw  back  her  head 
and  laughed  and  laughed.  Smith  Jones  and  John 
Johnson,  who  had  been  uncertain  how  she  would  regard 
the  new  twist  Fate  had  taken  in  her  affairs,  and  who 
had  been  woefully  afraid  that  she  would  insist  on 
breaking  the  quarantine,  laughed  also.  Last  of  all 
Aunt  Martha  joined  in. 

"It's — it's  too  ridiculous,"  Sallie  stuttered  at  last. 
"But  it's  rather  fun,  don't  you  think,  Aunt  Martha?" 
she  hugged  her.  "Now  you'll  be  able  to  finish  the 

£06 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


'Widow  Lerouge.'  I'll  go  and  make  out  a  list  of  what 
we  need.  Oh,  won't  some  fresh  cream  taste  good !" 

"And  a  beefsteak !"  exclaimed  John  Johnson,  in  a 
very  transport  of  joy.  "Gee,  to  think  of  a  juicy  beef- 
steak!" 

"Didn't  I  see  a  telephone  in  the  back  hall?"  asked 
Aunt  Martha  suddenly.  "Can't  we  call  up  Prussia  and 
find  out  if  there  really  has  been  smallpox  here?"  She 
was  not  exactly  comfortable,  no  elderly  sheltered 
woman  would  have  been. 

Smith  Jones  put  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "The  tele- 
phone is  out  of  order,  wire  down  somewhere."  He  did 
not  tell  her  that  he  had  cut  it  down  himself.  "And  as 
for  the  smallpox — there  hasn't  been  a  case  here.  I'm 
positive  of  that !  There  wasn't  anything  the  least  sug- 
gestive of  illness  of  any  sort,  you  remember.  No,  these 
stupid  fools  have  made  a  mistake,  how  or  why,  I  can't 
imagine.  But  what's  the  use  of  bothering.  We'll 
learn  in  good  time,"  he  smiled  and  he  had  a  rarely 
persuasive  smile  as  Aunt  Martha  had  already  learned. 
"So  it's  on  with  the  house  party." 

They  made  out  a  list  and  shouted  it  to  Larson,  who 
refused  to  take  the  memorandum  Sallie  had  written. 

"He  will  never  remember  it  all,"  she  told  Smith  Jones 
in  despair. 

"Well,  anything  that  he  remembers  will  be  just  that 
much  more  than  we  have,"  he  told  her  consolingly. 

207 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"I  know,  but  it's  so  stupid,"  she  frowned.  "And  a 
Waloo  Gazette!"  she  shouted  suddenly  after  the  de- 
parting Larson. 

"The  Waloo  Gazette?"  Smith  Jones  looked  at  her 
questioningly. 

She  colored.  She  couldn't  tell  him  that  she  wanted 
to  read  what  the  newspapers  had  discovered  about  the 
Cabot  robbery.  "We  haven't  heard  a  word  from  the 
world  for  almost  a  week,"  she  stammered. 

"Do  you  care?"  he  asked  softly.  "Do  you  really 
care  about  the  world  outside?"  His  eyes  held  hers  and 
he  drew  nearer  and  put  his  hand  over  her  fingers  as 
they  rested  on  the  rail.  The  touch  sent  a  thrill  like 
fire  through  her.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  an- 
swer unless  a  flushed  face  and  down-dropped  eyes  and 
quick  breath  formed  an  answer.  They  stood  there  si- 
lently, his  hand  over  her  fingers,  until  Aunt  Martha 
called  from  the  doorway. 

"Sallie!    Sallie!" 

Sallie  snatched  her  fingers  away  and  her  face  felt 
scorched  as  she  turned  it  toward  her  aunt. 

"We  are  going  up  to  the  attic,"  Aunt  Martha  eyed 
her  fearfully  and  wondered  if  a  flushed  face  was  a  symp- 
tom of  anything  like  smallpox.  "That's  the  only  part 
of  the  cottage  we  haven't  been  in.  I  know  it's  silly 
to  think  that  anyone  could  be  there,  but  I'll  be  more 
easy  in  my  mind  after  we  have  looked." 

208 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Neither  Smith  Jones  nor  Sallie  laughed  at  her. 

"A  good  idea,"  Smith  Jones  was  even  kind  enough  to 
say. 

As  she  heard  his  voice,  which  seemed  deeper,  richer, 
Sallie  drew  a  long  breath-  She  slipped  past  him  and 
caught  Aunt  Martha's  hand.  "I'll  go  with  you,"  she 
said  hurriedly. 

They  made  quite  a  procession  as  they  went  up  the 
stairs  and  back  to  the  big  unfinished  room  over  the 
kitchen  wing  that  served  as  an  attic.  Not  one  of  them 
was  really  surprised  to  find  that  it  was  devoid  of  human 
presence.  Aunt  Martha  peered  behind  boxes  and 
trunks,  the  accumulation  that  is  always  to  be  found  in 
lumber  rooms,  as  if  determined  to  discover  a  smallpox 
case  concealed  somewhere. 

"I  know  I'm  silly,"  she  confessed  tremulously,  "but 
that  man,  that  Murphy,  has  made  me  very  uncomfor- 
table in  my  mind." 

Sallie  found  a  lot  of  toys,  boxes  of  blocks,  trains  of 
battered  cars  and  a  brave  hobby  horse.  "Some  little 
boy  must  have  had  jolly  rides  on  you,  old  Dobbin,"  she 
patted  the  worn  neck  with  gentle  fingers. 

"He  did,"  Smith  Jones  told  her  heartily. 

She  started.  "You  speak  as  if  you  had  known  him,'* 
she  looked  at  him  oddly. 

He  frowned  and  then  smiled.  "As  one  boy  knows  an- 
other," he  explained.  "You  can  tell,  can't  you,  whether 

209 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


a  little  girl  has  enjoyed  her  doll  without  knowing  the 
little  girl?" 

She  opened  her  eyes,  but  she  nodded  as  if  she  could, 
as  she  followed  Aunt  Martha  down  the  stairs  again. 

"It's — it's  very  strange,"  Aunt  Martha  murmured 
when  they  were  in  the  living-room  and  her  voice  shook. 

"Thundering  strange!"  Smith  Jones  quite  agreed 
with  her.  "We  can't  understand  it,  but  I  think  old 
Murphy  is  right  in  advising  us  not  to  try  to  buck  up 
against  the  law.  We  would  only  get  into  trouble,  and 
I  take  it  no  one  cares  to  go  to  j  ail  ?"  he  glanced  around 
the  little  square  as  if  to  see  if  any  of  them  did  wish  to 
go  to  jail. 

They  did  not,  they  assured  him  hastily,  they  did  not 
care  to  go  individually  nor  collectively,  so  for  the  pres- 
ent there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 

"There  is  your  motor  boat,"  Sallie  burst  out  sud- 
denly. "Couldn't  we  get  away  in  that  ?  I  hate  to  leave 
my  car,  but  I  suppose  there  is  no  other  way." 

"I'd  be  glad  to  take  you  in  the  boat,  but  the  truth 
is  we  haven't  any  gasoline." 

"No  gasoline!"  Sallie's  eyes  grew  big.  "Why,  you 
promised  to  let  me  have  gasoline  for  the  car!" 

"I  did,  and  you  shall  have  some.  When  I  promised 
I  thought  we  could  send  in  to  Prussia.  I  didn't  know 
we  would  be  quarantined.  We  just  made  the  landing 
the  day  the  rain  began.  It's  funny,  when  you  come  to 

210 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


think  of  it,  your  car  and  our  boat,  marooned  for  a 
little  gasoline." 

"Perhaps  Larson  would  bring  us  some?"  suggested 
Sallie. 

"Larson!  He  won't  bring  us  anything  that  would 
enable  us  to  break  quarantine,"  scornfully.  "Our  only 
chance  is  from  a  friendly  passerby.  If  anyone  of  in- 
telligence comes  this  way  we  may  possibly  convince 
him  that  we  are  not  what  that  yellow  card  says  we  are. 
But  there's  a  prejudice  against  smallpox,  and  the  ma- 
jority of  people  keep  to  the  main  road,  so  I  fancy  we 
are  marooned  for  fair."  And  he  beamed  as  if  it  were  a 
pleasant  thing  to  be. 

Sallie  did  not  beam.  She  frowned.  Since  she  had 
stood  on  the  porch  with  Smith  Jones'  hand  on  hers,  she 
had  not  known  an  easy  moment.  She  must  get  away, 
she  could  not  stay  there  with  him  and  John  Johnson. 
She  could  not  have  told  you  why  she  couldn't,  but  she 
knew  she  couldn't.  She  spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
on  the  porch,  staring  up  and  down  the  road  or  calling 
to  Murphy,  who  refused  to  allow  her  to  come  near  the 
gate  to  make  conversation  easier.  From  him  sKe 
learned  that  Prussia  had  suffered  severely  from  small- 
pox the  year  before,  and  was  not  taking  any  chances 
of  doing  it  again.  There  was  no  use  for  her  to  coax 
or  bribe,  he  was  an  honest  man  and  so  was  Larson. 
He  had  lost  a  brother-in-law  himself  in  the  epidemic 

211 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


of  a  year  ago  and  had  a  feeling  for  smallpox,  in  spite 
of  vaccination  that  "took  like  sixty,"  that  made  him 
proof  against  wiles  or  gold. 

"  'Annie,  Sister  Annie,  do  you  see  anyone  coming?' ' 
laughed  John  Johnson  as  he  came  out  and  joined  her. 
"I  didn't  know  you  were  so  anxious  to  get  away,"  he 
said  more  soberly.  "I  thought  you  were  enjoying  your- 
self here  with  us.  It  hurts,  Sallie,  honest  it  does,  to 
learn  that  you  are  anxious  to  leave  us." 

"It  isn't  that,"  Sallie  colored  hotly  at  what  it  was 
that  made  her  so  anxious  to  leave.  "I  have  enjoyed 
it.  It's  been  the  only  fun  I've  had  for  years.  You 
know  I've  been  so  shut  up — in  a  convent,"  she  added 
hurriedly,  as  she  saw  the  surprise  on  his  face.  "But 
we  can't  stay  forever,  we  must  get  away,  Aunt  Martha 
and  I." 

"Aunt  Martha  seems  resigned,"  John  Johnson  told 
her,  as  Aunt  Martha  and  Smith  Jones  joined  them. 

"I  don't  enjoy  it  as  I  did,"  Aunt  Martha  confessed. 
"I  suspect  smallpox  germs  of  being  concealed  every- 
where. I  wish  we  could  get  away." 

"Look  down  the  road!"  Sallie  jumped  to  her  feet 
and  caught  the  arm  nearest  to  her.  It  belonged  to 
John  Johnson,  and  he  put  his  hand  over  hers. 

"What  at  ?"  he  asked  staring  at  her  instead  of  down 
the  road  where  her  other  hand  was  pointing. 

She  did  not  hear  him,  she  was  too  intent  on  discover- 

212 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ing  what  it  was  that  she  had  glimpsed.  As  the  spot 
appeared  again  and  gradually  grew  larger  and  larger, 
she  saw  that  it  was  a  motor  car,  a  roadster,  and  that  it 
contained  no  one  but  the  driver. 

"He  will  let  us  have  gasoline,"  she  confided  to  John 
Johnson,  jumping  up  and  down  on  her  toes.  "Call  to 
him."  She  pinched  John  Johnson's  arm. 

They  watched  the  roadster  come  nearer.  As  it  ap- 
proached the  gate  Aunt  Martha  gave  a  stifled  cry  and 
drew  back,  pulling  Sallie  with  her. 

"Sallie!  Sallie!"  she  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 
"Don't  you  see  who  it  is?" 

Sallie  did  see,  and  she  was  in  a  panic.  Impulsively 
she  clapped  her  hand  over  the  half-opened  mouth  of 
John  Johnson,  as  he  would  have  obeyed  her  command 
to  shout,  and  she  held  it  there  while  the  motorist  par- 
leyed with  Murphy.  They  could  see  him  glance  toward 
the  porch,  they  knew  that  he  shook  his  head  with  an- 
other look  at  the  two  men,  behind  which  he  could 
glimpse  the  two  women,  before  he  drove  on. 

Sallie  was  sure  she  had  not  breathed.  She  felt  suffo- 
cated, as  John  Johnson  swung  around  and  showed  her 
two  eyes  full  of  astonishment.  Aunt  Martha  had  not 
breathed  either.  She  had  expected  to  die  then  and 
there,  and  she  was  surprised,  when  the  roadster  went  on, 
to  find  herself  alive. 

Smith   Jones    found  his   voice   first.      He   had  been 

213 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


puzzled  at  the  strange  silence  that  seemed  to  have  en- 
gulfed them.  "Why  didn't  you  sing  out,  Jack?"  he 
asked. 

John  Johnson  did  not  answer  him.  He  was  staring 
at  Sallie  and  at  Aunt  Martha  and  at  Sallie's  brown 
hand  which  had  been  clapped  against  his  half-open  lips. 
He  was  wishing  that  he  had  not  wasted  such  an  oppor- 
tunity. But  Smith  Jones  wanted  an  answer. 

"I  don't  know,"  John  Johnson  told  him  truthfully. 
"Who  was  that  man?"  he  asked  Sallie  sharply. 

She  told  him.     She  could  not  help  herself. 

"It  was  the  Justice  of  the  Peace  of  Prairieville." 

And  then  John  Johnson  and  Smith  Jones  knew  very 
well  why  Sallie  had  clapped  her  fingers  over  John  John- 
son's mouth  so  that  he  could  not  sing  out.  A  Justice 
of  the  Peace  was  one  of  the  last  persons  they  cared 
to  have  join  them  even  if  he  could  raise  the  quarantine. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THERE  was  a  tension  about  life  at  the  cottage 
now  that  the  sun  was  shining  that  had  not  been 
there  when  the  rain  was  falling.  Perhaps  it  was 
caused  by  the  guard  at  the  gate,  the  yellow  card  on  the 
post  or  perhaps  it  was  the  suspicion  that  was  in  each 
of  the  four  minds.  Whatever  the  cause  each  felt  it.  It 
was  far  too  palpable  not  to  be  felt. 

"I  have  a  feeling  that  smallpox  germs  are  behind 
every  door  and  under  every  chair  ready  to  fasten  on  me 
the  moment  I  come  near,"  confessed  Aunt  Martha 
nervously.  "I  want  to  get  away." 

To  Sallie  she  admitted  that  it  was  not  altogether  the 
smallpox  germs  that  made  her  nervous. 

"I  don't  like  to  think  of  them  and  I  shall  feel  horrible 
if  you  or  I  are  ill  but  it  isn't  the  smallpox  that  makes 
me  so  uneasy.  It  is  what  we  know.  Why,  any  minute 
the  sheriff  or  the  health  officer  or  some  other  policeman 
may  come  out  to  see  if  we  are  keeping  quarantine  and 
then  they  will  find  Smith  and  John.  I  wish  there  was 

215 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


some  way  of  sending  them  on.  I  tell  you  frankly,  Sallie, 
that  I  shall  not  let  an  officer  take  those  boys  to  jail. 
Oh,  I  must  have  a  good  talk  with  them!  I  have  post- 
poned it  and  postponed  it  hoping  that  they  would  say 
something  that  would  lead  naturally  to  the  subject  of 
their  crime.  I'm  sure  that  they  will  be  glad  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf.  Smith  told  me  only  yesterday  that  he 
was  not  satisfied  with  his  profession,  he  even  said  that 
it  was — it  was,"  she  hesitated  fastidiously,  "rotten." 
Face  and  voice  expressed  disgust  at  the  adjective  Smith 
Jones  had  chosen  to  describe  his  work.  "And  I  believe 
he  is  right,  disgusting  as  it  sounds.  I  would  have  asked 
him  more  about  it  but  that  Larson  kept  shouting  to  us. 
There  seems  no  privacy  here  any  more.  I  am  positive 
in  my  own  mind  that  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson 
are  not  bad  men." 

"I  know  they're  not!"  Sallie  was  equally  positive. 

"If  they  steal,  and  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  doubt 
that  they  have  stolen,  it  is  because  they  have  a  disease 
of  some  sort,  something  pressing  on  their  brains," 
vaguely.  "I  wish  Dr.  Brownlow  could  see  them.  I 
wish  we  dared  send  for  him."  She  paused  for  Sallie 
the  fearless  to  say  that  she  dared  but  Sallie  did  not  say 
it.  She  only  sighed  which  did  not  answer  half  as  well 
and  Aunt  Martha  went  on :  "I'd  be  glad  to  pay  for  any 
operation  that  would  make  them  normal.  You  know, 
Sallie,  when  women  whose  husbands  have  large  incomes 

216 


Up  the  Hood  with  Sallie 


steal  things  from  the  stores  they  are  never  called  thieves 
but  kleptomaniacs.  I  don't  know  what  scientists  call 
taking  jewelry  and  silver  from  private  homes,  but  there 
must  be  some  other  term  than  just  theft  when  it  is 
done  by  boys  like  Smith  and  John.  Sometimes,  Sallie," 
she  drew  closer  and  her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper,  "I 
am  sure  that  they  suspect  that  I  know  something. 
Have  you  noticed  how  oddly  they  look  at  me,  as  if  they 
were  anxious  to  say  something  and  didn't  quite  dare.  I 
can  just  see  the  confession  hanging  on  their  lips.  If 
they  would  only  utter  it !  Oh,  I  could  help  them  I  know, 
but  I  don't  feel  that  I  can  go  up  to  them  and  tell  them 
I  know  that  they  are  burglars.  It  doesn't  seem  just — 
just  courteous.  I  am  dying  to  get  away  from  this 
place  but  I  don't  feel  that  it  would  be,"  again  she  hesi- 
tated for  a  word  and  at  last  made  a  choice,  "humani- 
tarian to  leave  until  we  have  heard  their  confession." 

Sallie  had  noticed  the  strange  glances  that  John 
Johnson  and  Smith  Jones  had  bestowed  upon  her  Aunt 
Martha  and  upon  herself.  She  had  wondered  if  they 
suspected  that  she  and  Aunt  Martha  knew  what  they 
were,  if  they  had  discovered  that  the  locket  had  been 
taken  from  Smith  Jones'  dresser.  They  must  have 
missed  it.  But  if  they  had  they  never  mentioned  it  to 
Sallie  nor  to  Aunt  Martha. 

Larson  had  brought  the  Waloo  Gazette,  not  the 
latest  copy,  but  one  that  was  three  days  old  and  it  con- 

15  217 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


tained  news  of  the  two  robberies  that  were  proving  un- 
solved puzzles  to  the  police.  Sallie  gave  scant  attention 
to  the  Marston  robbery,  she  was  not  interested  in  that, 
but  she  read  every  word  the  reporter  had  to  say  in 
regard  to  the  Cabot  burglary.  There  was  a  cut  of 
Gentleman  Jones,  whom  the  Waloo  police  still  suspected 
of  being  the  thief.  It  was  too  blurred  to  trace  any  re- 
semblance to  Smith  Jones  beyond  what  the  mutual 
possession  of  two  eyes,  a  nose  and  a  mouth  would  give. 

The  police  are  of  the  opinion  that  the  robbery 
was  committed  by  two  men,  Gentleman  Jones  and 
his  confederate, 

The  Waloo  Gazette  stated  authoritatively. 

They  are  positive  that  the  two  crooks  were  in 
Waloo  two  days  before  the  Cabot  residence  was 
broken  into.  They  are  equally  positive  that  Gen- 
tleman Jones  and  his  pal  did  not  leave  Waloo  by 
train.  The  station  and  train  officials  declare  that  no 
men  answering  to  the  descriptions  left  that  night. 
Consequently  they  must  have  gone  by  the  river  or 
by  the  highway.  If  so,  they  undoubtedly  are  on 
their  way  to  Canada  where  they  can  safely  dispose 
of  the  valuables  they  stole. 

It  was  as  unsatisfactory,  as  evasive,  as  a  newspaper 
paragraph  can  be  and  Sallie  read  it  three  times  before 
she  deliberately  tore  the  front  page  with  the  blurred  cut 
of  Gentleman  Jones  from  the  rest  of  the  paper  and 

218 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


crumbling  it  up  thrust  it  into  her  pocket  until  she  could 
burn  it  in  the  kitchen  stove.  Larson  had  given  the 
paper  to  her  and  she  thanked  her  lucky  stars  that  he 
had.  If  Aunt  Martha  or  the  men  read  the  Gazette  they 
would  think  naturally  that  Larson  had  torn  it  on  his 
way  from  Prussia. 

But  they  thought  nothing  of  the  sort.  Smith  Jones 
knew  who  had  torn  off  the  front  page  as  soon  as  he  saw 
that  it  was  missing.  He  looked  at  the  date  and  when 
Murphy  came  back  from  town  he  brought  another  copy 
of  the  same  issue  which  he  thrust  under  the  hedge  where 
Smith  Jones  found  it. 

He  shook  his  head  as  he  saw  the  big  headlines  that 
told  what  the  reporter  had  learned  and  the  police 
imagined  of  the  women  who  had  robbed  the  Marston 
house. 

There  is  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  officers 
that  the  robbery  was  done  by  the  Duchess  and 
Ma'm'selle  Sallie.  Sallie  masqueraded  as  a  maid 
and  secured  a  place  in  the  house  two  days  before. 
The  afternoon  of  the  robbery  an  elderly  woman 
drove  up  to  the  Marston  residence  in  a  small 
roadster  and  asked  to  see  the  new  housemaid.  It 
is  believed  that  she  was  the  Duchess  and  that  with 
her  machine  she  waited  at  the  corner  for  Ma'm'selle 
Sallie  to  join  her  with  the  valuables  which  she  car- 
ried off  in  a  motor  trunk.  Both  the  Duchess  and 
Ma'm'selle  Sallie  are  refined-looking  women  and  to 

219 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


see  them  in  a  machine  no  one  would  suspect  that 
they  had  pulled  off  one  of  the  biggest  robberies 
ever  committed  in  Waloo.  A  Chicago  detective  has 
been  called  in  to  aid  the  local  staff  and  he  is  posi- 
tive that  the  women  have  taken  the  road  for  Cana- 
da. Telegrams  have  been  sent  to  the  police  of  all 
towns  between  here  and  the  border  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  the  two  women  will  be  caught  before 
they  can  cross  the  line. 

Smith  Jones  groaned.  "I  don't  like  it,"  he  confessed 
to  John  Johnson,  whom  he  beguiled  to  the  shed  to  read 
the  story.  "It  doesn't  look  good  to  me.  We  may  have 
to  make  a  fight  for  it  yet.  But  they  shan't  get  that 
girl  nor  her  aunt.  No  matter  what  happens  we  must 
get  them  away." 

"Did  you  read  this  about  the  Cabot  robbery  ?"  asked 
John  Johnson,  eagerly  devouring  the  paragraph. 

"Hang  the  Cabot  stuff !"  Smith  Jones  said  impatient- 
ly. "That's  immaterial  now.  It's  Sallie  Smith  and  her 
aunt  we  have  to  think  of." 

"Right  you  are,"  John  Johnson  frowned  as  he  gave 
Sallie's  roadster  an  irritated  kick  because  it  would  not 
tell  them  anything  about  the  two  women  it  had  brought 
to  the  cottage. 

Aunt  Martha  read  the  remnants  of  the  paper  and 
found  a  number  of  items  that  interested  her  and  to 
which  she  called  Sallie's  attention.  There  was  a  lot 

2£0 


Up  tlie  Road  with  Sallie 


more  about  Rose's  wedding,  Philip  had  spoken  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Associated  Charities  on  "Reformatory 
Work."  "I  wish  we  could  have  heard  him,"  Aunt 
Martha  remarked  wistfully.  Richard  had  been  elected 
a  director  on  another  board  and  Stanley  had  drawn  the 
cartoon  for  the  annual  Charity  Ball  placard. 

"The  Cabot  family,"  Aunt  Martha  remarked  pleas- 
antly, "has  certainly  contributed  generously  to  the 
columns  of  the  Gazette  today." 

Sallie  wondered  what  she  would  say  if  she  knew  the 
Cabot  news  that  had  flared  on  the  front  page,  but  she 
only  laughed  nervously  when  Aunt  Martha  found  an- 
other item: 

Madame  Cabot  is  still  out  of  the  city  and  it  is 
uncertain  when  she  will  return. 

"It  certainly  is  uncertain,"  she  chuckled.  "Very  un- 
certain." 

It  was  the  next  morning  that  Sallie  caught  that  patch 
pocket  on  her  skirt  on  the  handle  of  a  drawer  in  her 
closet.  It  was  a  big  closet  with  a  window  at  one  end 
and  half  a  dozen  drawers  at  the  other.  The  hooks  and 
shelves  had  been  empty  when  Sallie  and  Aunt  Martha 
had  taken  possession  and  whether  the  drawers  were 
empty  also  Sallie  did  not  know.  She  had  never  looked. 
It  really  was  none  of  her  affairs.  But  when  the  pocket 
on  her  skirt  caught  on  the  knob  her  quick  movement 

£21 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


pulled  the  drawer  out  a  few  inches.  Sallie  stopped  with 
an  impatient  exclamation  and  looked  at  the  pocket  to 
see  if  it  was  torn.  She  could  not  help  but  look  into  the 
partially  opened  drawer  at  the  same  time  and  im- 
mediately she  forgot  all  about  pockets. 

Ignorant  as  she  was  of  many  things  about  a  home 
she  knew  silver  when  she  saw  it,  even  when  it  was  in  red 
Canton  flannel  cases.  The  drawer  was  full  of  knobby 
red  covered  objects.  Her  fingers  shook  as  she  unfast- 
ened the  tapes  of  a  bag  and  drew  out  a  tea  pot.  It 
was  old-fashioned  in  shape ;  not  old  enough  to  be  new- 
fashioned  yet — and  on  one  side  was  a  crest — the  Cabot 
crest.  Sallie  lifted  it  nearer  to  make  sure.  She  carried 
it  to  the  window  but  more  light  only  made  the  crest 
more  distinct.  With  an  exclamation  that  was  almost  a 
groan  she  tore  off  the  cases  of  sugar  bowl,  cream  pitch- 
er, platters  and  dishes.  The  Cabot  crest  was  on  every 
one.  She  stared  at  the  array  on  the  closet  floor. 

There  was  only  one  way  by  which  that  silver  could 
have  been  in  that  drawer.  Smith  Jones  and  John  John- 
son had  brought  it  from  Waloo  and  hidden  it  there — 
almost  under  the  very  nose  of  its  owner.  Sallie  would 
have  seen  the  humorous  side  of  it  if  she  had  not  been  so 
indignant.  She  was  so  angry  that  the  tears  rushed  to 
her  eyes.  She  dashed  them  hurriedly  away  as  she  heard 
Aunt  Martha  call  to  her  and  slipped  the  silver  back  into 
the  drawer.  Aunt  Martha  must  not  see  it  yet.  She 

222 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


was  breathless  by  the  time  she  had  the  drawer  repacked 
and  closed  and  when  she  left  the  closet  she  shut  the  door 
behind  her  and  locked  it.  She  dropped  the  key  into  her 
pocket. 

"I  have  the  locket  and  the  silver,"  she  thought 
wretchedly,  not  at  all  jubilantly  as  she  would  have 
imagined  she  would  feel.  "But,  Oh,  I  wish  I  hadn't !  I 
wish  I  had  never  seen  them!" 


CHAPTER    XVII 

SALLIE!  Sallie!"  Aunt  Martha  was  calling  from 
the  hall. 

And  trying  her  best  to  look  as  if  she  had  not 
just  found  the  stolen  Cabot  silver — a  really  truly  skele- 
ton in  a  closet — Sallie  went  down  the  stairs  to  hear 
that  Larson  had  brought  them  word  that  so  long  as  they 
had  made  such  a  fuss  over  the  quarantine  and  so  long 
as  they  insisted  that  there  was  not  a  case  of  smallpox  in 
the  cottage,  the  health  officer  and  the  sheriff  would  be 
out  that  day  to  investigate  the  matter. 

"The  sheriff!"  gasped  Sallie  and  she  did  not  dare 
look  at  anyone.  Instead  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the  black 
kitten  asleep  in  the  sun.  So  far  as  she  knew  the  black 
kitten  was  innocent  of  crimes  and  suspicions. 

"He's  up  for  re-election  this  fall  an'  he  can't  take 
no  chances  of  lettin'  smallpox  loose  on  the  county 
again,"  shouted  Larson  with  a  grin  and  he  spoke  as  if 
smallpox  was  a  wild  animal  they  had  confined  in  cap- 
tivity. "If  you're  tellin'  the  truth  when  you  say  you 

224 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


hain't  got  no  smallpox  why  you'll  be  glad  to  see  him." 
Even  at  long  distance  Larson  could  see  that  they  would 
not  be  glad  to  see  the  sheriff  and  the  health  officer  and 
he  went  on  unpleasantly  insinuating:  "You'll  hev  to 
prove  it  to  him." 

"We'll  prove  it  to  you,"  promised  John  Johnson 
quickly.  "If  you'll  come  within  proving  distance." 

But  Larson  frankly  confessed  that  he  would  rather 
face  a  boa  constrictor  twenty  feet  long  than  a  smallpox 
germ.  It  was  different  with  the  sheriff  and  Dr.  Reilly. 
They  were  expected  to  take  risks  before  an  election. 
"They're  comin'  right  along,"  he  promised. 

Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie  retired  hastily  to  the  kitchen 
for  a  hurried  consultation.  John  Johnson  and 
Smith  Jones  held  their  conference  on  the  porch.  When 
it  was  over  Smith  Jones  sauntered  around  the  house. 

"Come  on  down  to  the  river,  Sallie,"  he  called  through 
the  open  window  as  if  there  were  no  such  people  as 
sheriffs  and  health  officers  in  the  world.  "You  haven't 
said  good-morning  to  the  motor  boat  and  it  feels  neg- 
lected." 

Sallie  and  Aunt  Martha  exchanged  glances.  They 
were  positive  in  all  their  bones  that  Smith  Jones  realized 
that  he  had  reached  the  very  end  of  his  rope  and  that 
he  was  about  to  make  the  long  looked  for  confession 
that  would  show  such  a  decided  step  toward  reforma- 
tion. 

225 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Go,  dear  child."  Aunt  Martha  spoke  as  if  her  niece 
was  about  to  set  forth  on  some  dangerous  mission.  "Do 
your  best  to  keep  him  away.  I'll  look  after  John  John- 
son." 

She  kissed  her  solemnly  and  Sallie  went  down  the 
winding  path  that  led  through  the  painted  bushes,  to 
the  dock.  The  motor  boat  was  moored  beside  it  and 
did  appear  rather  forlorn  and  neglected,  as  Smith 
Jones  had  said.  But  Smith  Jones  scarcely  glanced  at 
it.  He  went  into  the  boat-house  and  came  back  with  a 
small  canoe. 

"Wherever  did  you  find  that?"  Sallie  was  astonished 
although  not  half  an  hour  before,  when  she  had  stood  in 
the  closet  surrounded  by  silver  enough  to  stock  a  shop, 
she  had  declared  that  she  would  never  be  astonished 
at  anything  again. 

"It  was  up  under  the  roof,"  he  told  her  shortly  be- 
fore he  made  an  effort  to  appear  as  usual.  "It's  such 
a  fine  day  I  thought  it  would  be  good  sport  to  go  out  on 
the  river  for  a  bit.  We  might  paddle  over  and  explore 
that  little  island."  He  nodded  toward  an  island  that 
did,  indeed,  appear  small  but  was  quite  large  enough 
to  accommodate  one  young  man  and  one  girl. 

Sallie  was  not  deceived  by  his  casual  manner.  She 
knew  very  well  why  he  wished  to  go  to  the  island  and 
she  was  anxious  to  help  him  avoid  the  sheriff.  Hadn't 
Aunt  Martha  begged  her  to  keep  him  away !  She  drew 

226 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


a  long  breath  of  relief  at  the  ease  with  which  she  would 
be  able  to  obey  Aunt  Martha  and  stepped  into  the 
canoe. 

It  took  Smith  Jones  but  a  few  minutes  to  paddle  the 
short  distance.  He  guided  the  canoe  around  the  upper 
end  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  dot  on  the  surface  of 
the  great  river. 

"I  have  a  feeling,"  his  voice  sounded  nervous  to 
Sallie's  eager  ears,  "that  there  is  a  better  landing  on  the 
other  side." 

He  found  a  very  good  landing  and  sprang  out  as  the 
nose  of  the  canoe  scraped  against  the  earth.  When  he 
helped  Sallie  out  she  stumbled  and  fell  against  his 
shoulder.  The  contact  was  like  a  match  that  sent  a 
flame  through  both  of  them.  Smith  Jones  stiffened  and 
fought  the  impulse  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  hold 
her  close.  Sallie  sprang  away,  fortunately  to  firmer 
ground,  and  stood  there,  palpitating,  trembling. 

Smith  Jones  cleared  his  voice  three  times  before  he 
could  use  it. 

"You'll  be  quite  safe  here,  if  you  keep  back  among 
the  cottonwoods,"  he  said.  "And  I'll  go  for  Aunt 
Martha.  We  might  have  a  picnic,"  he  suggested 
eagerly. 

A  picnic  with  the  sheriff  and  the  health  officer  search- 
ing the  cottage.  Sallie's  head  flew  up  and  all  the  lovely 
color  left  her  face  until  it  was  as  white  as  the  little 

227 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


crepe  blouse  she  wore.  "You're  not  going  back — back 
there  to  the  sheriff?"  she  gasped. 

"The  sheriff?  Pooh!"  as  if  a  sheriff  were  less  than 
the  dust  from  which  he  had  been  made.  "I'll  bring 
Aunt  Martha  and  John  and  some  lunch  over  and  we'll 
have  a  day  here  by  the  river."  He  would  have  stepped 
into  the  canoe  again  but  with  a  quick  movement  she 
slipped  before  him  and  sent  the  canoe  out  into  the 
river  with  a  strong  thrust. 

She  was  in  a  panic.  If  he  went  back  he  would  be 
arrested.  The  silver  was  in  the  closet  and  was  indisput- 
able evidence  that  he  was  the  thief  who  had  robbed  the 
Cabot  mansion.  Oh,  she  was  positive  that  he  would 
be  arrested  and  she  couldn't  bear  that,  she  just  couldn't 
bear  it.  He  might  be  a  thief,  her  brain  told  her  that 
he  was  while  her  heart  insisted  that  he  was  as  true  a 
gentleman  as  ever  lived,  but  she  could  not  let  him  go 
back  to  meet  a  sheriff.  John  Johnson  would  look  after 
Aunt  Martha ;  she  knew  he  would.  She  really  gave 
Aunt  Martha  little  thought,  she  seemed  to  forget  every- 
thing but  that  this  man,  whose  touch  had  sent  a  flame 
through  her,  would  be  in  danger  if  he  returned  to  the 
main  land.  That  was  why  she  pushed  the  canoe  out 
into  the  water. 

"You  can't  go  back!  You  shan't!"  she  cried  sob- 
bingly.  She  was  afraid,  ashamed,  to  look  at  him  and 
stared  instead  at  the  canoe  which  the  current  had  caught 

228 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


and  was  carrying  toward  New  Orleans  as  fast  as  it  could. 

He  gasped  and  his  face  whitened.  "Do  you  see 
what  you  have  done!"  he  cried  furiously.  "You  have 
marooned  us  on  this  island.  How  do  you  expect  to 
get  ashore  again  ?" 

"I  don't  care  if  we  never  get  ashore  again,"  she  said 
as  calmly  as  she  could.  "We  shan't  go  back  anyway 
until  after  the  sheriff  and  the  health  officer  have  gone 
away." 

Smith  Jones  stared  at  her.  What  determination  she 
had.  How  desperate  she  seemed  to  be.  He  was  not  sur- 
prised. Naturally  she  would  prefer  anything  to  cap- 
ture. 

"Well,  I'll  be — I'll  be — "  he  was  incapable  of  saying 
what  he  would  be  and  turned  away  just  in  time  to  say 
good-by  to  the  canoe  as  it  drifted  around  the  lower  end 
of  the  island  and  disappeared. 

Now  that  it  was  gone  Sallie  was  ashamed  of  herself — 
horribly  ashamed.  She  was  sorry  for  Aunt  Martha  and 
for  John  Johnson  who  had  been  left  to  face  the  sheriff. 
The  color  rushed  back  to  her  face  in  a  flood.  She  felt 
that  she  would  die  if  Smith  Jones  ever  looked  at  her 
again.  She  could  not  look  at  him  but  if  she  had  she 
would  have  seen  that  the  surprise  and  anger  had  left 
his  face  and  that  there  was  a  satisfied  grin  there  instead. 

He  was  sorry  for  Aunt  Martha  also,  but  Aunt  Martha 
was  old  enough  to  know  what  she  was  doing.  If  she 

229 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


wasn't  old  enough  now  she  never  would  be.  He  would 
have  liked  to  save  her  from  any  annoyance,  for  he  was 
fond  of  her  even  if  she  was  a  thief,  but  John  Johnson 
was  with  her  and  could  look  after  her.  He  had  not 
planned  to  desert  her,  he  had  thought  only  of  getting 
Sallie  away  first  but  Fate  had  placed  him  in  this  situ- 
ation and  who  was  he  to  quarrel  with  Fate  when  she  had 
given  him  more  than  he  had  asked  for.  He  put  a  gentle 
hand  on  Sallie's  shoulder  and  said  softly : 

"The  milk  is  spilled.  There  is  no  good  in  crying 
over  it.  Do  you  suppose  we  could  catch  some  fish  for 
dinner?  We  must  not  starve." 

She  did  not  care  a  button  about  the  fish  but  she  did 
care  to  know  that  he  was  no  longer  angry  with  her  and 
her  face  brightened  until  she  remembered  Aunt  Martha 
again.  What  a  wretch,  what  a  brute  she  had  been  to 
leave  her.  To  think  that  she  had  kidnapped  her  only 
to  abandon  her  in  the  cottage.  She  must  go  back  to 
her.  She  would  have  given  considerable,  even  her  road- 
ster, if  she  could  have  brought  the  canoe  back  to  the 
landing  place.  She  wished  that  she  were  not  so  im- 
pulsive, so  primitively  quick. 

A  sound,  a  soft  puff-puff,  caught  her  ear.  She 
jumped  to  her  feet  and  followed  the  sound  down  the 
river.  There  was  no  chance  of  making  a  mistake.  She 
knew  before  she  saw  it  that  a  motor  boat  was  to  pass 
them.  It  came  nearer.  She  cried  out  with  delight 

230 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


when  she  saw  that  one  of  the  two  men  in  the  boat,  the 
one  at  the  wheel,  was  Harvey  Bent,  the  apple  man,  who 
had  won  first  prize  at  the  state  fair  for  his  Wealthy 
apples.  He  would  take  her  ashore,  he  would  take  them 
all  away,  safe  up  the  river,  if  she  asked  him  to.  She 
opened  her  mouth  to  call  to  him,  to  ask  his  help,  when 
a  hand  caught  her  and  pulled  her  back  among  the 
bushes. 

"Don't  you  make  a  sound !"  Smith  Jones  said  harshly. 
There  was  an  odd  look  on  his  face,  his  chin  was  like  a 
rock. 

"Why — why  not?"  she  whimpered. 

"Because  that  man  in  the  boat  is  a  Chicago  detective," 
he  told  her  brutally.  He  had  never  seen  the  apple 
grower. 

"Oh!"  she  lost  her  voice  completely.  She  stared 
from  him  to  the  Chicago  detective,  who  sat  beside  Har- 
vey Bent  as  the  boat  puffed  by  them.  "How — how  do 
you  know?"  she  managed  to  stammer  after  a  long,  a 
very  long  silence. 

"I  know."  He  spoke  grimly  and  his  eyes  were  very 
stern  as  he  gazed  at  her.  "Now,  look  here,"  he  said 
crisply.  "This  country's  full  of  detectives  and  police. 
I  should  think  you  would  know  by  this  time  that  it  isn't 
safe  to  shout  to  everyone  you  see.  Perhaps  you  don't 
like  this  island,  perhaps  you  don't  care  very  much  for 
the  cottage,  but  you're  going  to  stay  where  I  think 

231 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


it's  safe  for  you  to  stay  until  I  can  get  you  away.  We 
aren't  going  to  take  any  chances  now." 

She  knew,  of  course,  what  he  meant,  that  he  was  not 
going  to  permit  her — and  Aunt  Martha — to  go  away 
and  furnish  a  clue  that  would  lead  to  the  capture  of  the 
men  who  had  robbed  the  Cabot  house.  But  didn't  he 
know?  didn't  he  know  that  she  would  die  before  she 
would  tell? 

"Can't — can't  you  trust  me?"  her  voice  broke.  She 
felt  so  hurt  that  he  couldn't. 

"I  don't  trust  anyone  in  a  situation  like  this,"  he 
said,  but  his  voice  was  not  quite  so  grim.  He  even 
smiled  as  if  having  properly  intimidated  her  he  could 
now  soothe  her. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE  Mississippi  River  is  a  main  traveled  road,  but 
like  all  roads  there  are  portions  of  it  that  are 
more  traveled  than  others.  The  portion  be- 
tween Prussia  and  Prairieville  was  one  of  these.  In  all 
the  days  that  Sallie  had  been  at  the  cottage  she  had 
seen  nothing  move  down  the  river  but  an  occasional  log 
that  had  evaded  its  owner  and  was  out  for  an  adventure 
of  its  own ;  and  nothing  at  all  went  up  the  river.  She 
watched  the  motor  boat  until  it  disappeared  around  the 
curve  above  them  carrying  the  friendly  grower  of 
Wealthy  apples  with  it. 

She  found  a  seat  on  a  mossy  log  and  with  her  elbows 
on  her  knees,  her  chin  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands,  sur- 
veyed the  watery  expanse  thoughtfully.  The  situation, 
she  began  to  feel,  had  grown  beyond  her.  If  only 
Smith  Jones  would  tell  her  that  he  was  a  thief,  would 
confess  that  he  had  robbed  her  aunt  and  brought  the 
silver  and  jewels  to  the  cottage  and  hidden  them;  if 
he  would  explain  why  and  how  he  came  to  be  a  burglar 

16  233 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


then  she  would  have  tangible  material  to  work  with,  but 
as  it  was  she  felt  as  if  she  were  confronting  a  wall  of 
solid  stone.  She  could  not  call  him  a  criminal  to  his 
face,  she  was  as  tied  by  conventions  as  Aunt  Martha 
there,  although  really  it  was  because  when  she  was  with 
him  she  found  it  so  very  hard  to  think  of  him  as  a  crim- 
inal. Even  now,  when  she  had  seen  him  with  her  own 
eyes  hide  from  a  Chicago  detective  she  had  to  remember 
the  ring,  the  locket,  the  silver  and  the  many  remarks 
that  pieced  together  wove  a  fabric  that  proved  beyond 
a  doubt  that  Smith  Jones  was  a  menace  to  society.  And 
yet  he  looked  so  little  like  a  menace — so  much  more  like 
a  benefit — that  it  made  it  very  hard  to  know  what  to  do. 

She  stole  another  look  at  the  menace.  It  was  a  warm 
day  and  Smith  Jones  had  taken  off  his  coat  while  he 
paddled  the  canoe.  All  men  look  better  in  their  shirt 
sleeves  and  Smith  Jones  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
He  couldn't  have  looked  better,  more  innocent,  Sallie 
decided  sadly,  if  he  had  been  a  Methodist  minister. 

He  sat  on  a  log,  perhaps  three  feet  from  Sallie's  log, 
his  chin  in  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  on  Sallie.  What  was 
he  going  to  do?  If  detectives  were  on  the  river  they 
were  as  surely  on  the  high  roads,  too.  Every  little 
village  constable  would  be  on  the  watch.  There  were 
many  villages  between  them  and  Canada  as  well  as  two 
cities  and  the  chances  were  ten  to  one  that  in  one  of 
the  many  villages  would  be  a  constable  lucky  enough  to 

234 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


stumble  on  the  fact  that  Sallie  and  Aunt  Martha  were 
the  thieves  wanted  by  the  Waloo  police.  Oh,  it  was 
damnable  that  a  girl,  a  little  girl  like  Sallie  should  be 
tangled  up  in  a  robbery !  Look  at  it  as  he  would  he  could 
discover  only  one  thing  to  be  grateful  for  and  that  was 
that  murder  had  not  followed  the  theft.  It  often  does, 
as  he  knew.  Burglary  was  bad  enough  but  murder. 
He  turned  cold  the  full  length  of  his  spine  and  eyed 
Sallie  questioningly.  She  looked  like  a  very  little  girl, 
a  baby,  he  thought  with  a  gulp,  as  she  sat  there  with 
such  a  pensive  expression  on  the  face  that  was  usually 
so  wreathed  with  smiles.  Her  blouse  of  white  crepe  de 
chine  was  open  at  the  throat,  the  green  corduroy  skirt 
was  short  and  showed  her  buckled  pumps.  She  looked 
like  a  school  girl  whose  name  was  in  the  junior  list  of 
the  Social  Register.  Smith  Jones  groaned.  He  sup- 
posed she  stole  to  obtain  money  to  look  like  a  Social 
Register  junior.  Love  of  finery  was  a  disease  with 
many  women,  he  had  heard  old  Dr.  Watson  say  more 
than  once.  Great  Heavens !  a  girl  must  be  crazy  to 
steal  to  get  herself  frills.  It  just  showed  how  little  a 
man  could  understand  a  girl,  for  in  the  close  companion- 
ship that  their  enforced  stay  at  the  cottage  had  made 
necessary  he  had  thought  Sallie  showed  far  less  vanity 
than  most  girls  he  had  met.  But  he  knew  enough,  or 
thought  he  knew  enough,  of  sartorial  matters  to  recog- 
nize a  Parisian  blouse  when  he  saw  one.  Poor  little 

235 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


kid.  She  had  had  the  wrong  influence,  the  wrong  en- 
vironment. He  felt  very  bitter  against  Aunt  Martha, 
who  at  times  seemed  dyed  a  deep  rich  black  with  hypoc- 
risy, she  covered  her  criminal  self  with  such  a  cloak 
of  cultured  innocent  womanliness.  If  Sallie  would  only 
talk  to  him  frankly  and  tell  him  the  truth.  She  must 
feel  that  he  wished  to  help  her.  But  a  fellow  couldn't 
go  up  to  a  girl  and  tell  her  that  he  knew  she  was  a 
thief — not  to  a  girl  like  Sallie,  who  friendly  as  she  was 
could  assume  an  air  of  gentle  aloofness  that  was  far 
more  effective  than  hauteur. 

So  they  sat,  he  on  his  log,  she  on  hers,  each  busy 
with  perplexing  unpleasant  thoughts,  when  the  shrill 
whistle  of  a  steamboat  made  them  look  up.  Around  the 
lower  end  of  the  island  a  fussy  little  boat  pushed  a 
house  boat.  Flags  were  fluttering  from  the  upper  deck. 
Sallie  recognized  the  banners. 

"Why,"  she  cried  and  ran  to  the  bank  to  make  sure 
she  had  made  no  mistake.  The  soft  earth  gave  under 
her  impatient  feet  and  she  would  have  fallen  into  the 
river  if  Smith  Jones  had  not  caught  her.  "Oh,"  mur- 
mured Sallie,  her  cheeks  pink  with  excitement.  She 
never  noticed  that  the  hand  with  which  she  had  been 
saved  from  a  watery  grave  still  clasped  her  arm  firmly, 
for  the  house  boat  was  the  Loafer  with  the  steaming 
Worker  behind  her.  And  on  the  Loafer  was  Judith 
Bingham  and  a  party  of  Eastern  friends,  men  whose 

236 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


names  are  known  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land, 
and  women  whose  pictures  are  always  to  be  found  in 
some  Sunday  supplement.  Sallie  remembered  that  she 
had  read  in  that  mutilated  copy  of  the  Waloo  Gazette 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hiram  Bingham,  2nd,  were  to 
entertain  a  group  of  Eastern  capitalists  who  had  been 
brought  to  Waloo  by  the  alluring  call  of  Investment, 
on  a  house  boat  party  up  the  river  to  see  the  autumn 
foliage  which  just  now  was  at  its  brightest  and  best. 

The  river  was  not  as  wide  at  that  particular  point 
as  it  might  have  been,  for  the  island  cut  the  chan- 
nel in  two.  The  house  boat  was  so  close  that  Sallie 
could  see  the  women  in  their  smart  frocks  lounging  in 
the  big  wicker  chairs  on  the  upper  deck,  or  playing 
bridge,  she  heard  young  Hiram  Bingham's  pleasant 
voice  as  he  pointed  out  a  special  place  of  interest  and 
told  the  Indian  legend;  she  could  almost  hear  Judith 
laugh. 

How  the  presence  of  that  house  boat  could  simplify 
the  situation.  She  knew  that  all  she  had  to  do  was  to 
wave  her  hand,  attract  the  attention  of  Judith  and 
Hiram  and  she  and  Aunt  Martha  would  be  removed 
from  the  cottage  and  all  its  perplexing  problems.  She 
could  even  take  John  Johnson  and  Smith  Jones  with 
her.  The  Binghams  would  never  question  her  when 
she  had  explained  that  they  had  all  been  storm-bound 
at  the  cottage.  The  whole  thing  was  rather  funny  on 

237 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  surface.  Hiram  would  laugh  when  he  heard  that  she 
had  dared  to  kidnap  Aunt  Martha  and  carry  her  away 
to  be  quarantined  for  smallpox  in  a  deserted  river  cot- 
tage. She  liked  to  hear  Hiram  Bingham  laugh  and  he 
and  Judith  had  always  been  perfectly  charming  to 
her. 

And  then  some  queer  quirk  in  her  mind  showed  her 
Judith's  white  hands  with  their  sparkling  rings  and 
she  shivered.  The  other  women,  the  wives  of  the  east- 
ern magnates,  would  have  rings  and  other  jewels,  also. 
She  couldn't,  she  wouldn't  expose  Smith  Jones  and  John 
Johnson  to  the  temptation  of  being  near  to  such  costly 
trinkets.  They  were  not  sufficiently  reformed.  No, 
she  couldn't  do  that  and  the  hand  she  had  raised  to 
wave  to  Judith  and  to  Hiram  dropped  heavily  at  her 
side  even  before  Smith  Jones  pulled  her  back  among  the 
bushes  as  the  house  boat  came  in  line  with  them. 

"Whose  boat  is  that?"  he  whispered. 

"Old  Mr.  Henderson's,"  she  was  almost  in  tears.  If 
only  old  Mr.  Henderson  had  been  entertaining  a  party 
of  men  she  would  not  have  hesitated.  She  could  have 
trusted  Mr.  Henderson  or  Mr.  Bingham  with  the  true 
story  and  she  knew  either  of  them  would  have  helped 
her.  They  had  always  done  anything  she  asked  them 
to.  "Mr.  Horatio  Henderson,  the  jam  king  of  Waloo," 
she  caught  her  lower  lip  between  her  teeth  and  bit  it 
in  her  disappointment. 

238 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"H-m,"  was  all  he  said,  but  he  knew  something  of 
Mr.  Henderson,  the  jam  king,  and  he  understood  that 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  all  kings,  jam  or  oil  or  rub- 
ber, had  jewels.  It  couldn't  be  that  this  little  girl  had 
planned  another  robbery,  that  she  had  known  of  the 
house  boat  party  and  had  come  to  the  cottage  to  meet 
it.  He  had  seen  her  raise  her  hand  to  signal.  Could 
she  have  a  confederate  on  board?  His  lips  pressed  to- 
gether in  a  firm  line.  Even  if  she  had  planned  it  she 
should  not  do  it.  He  would  watch  her  carefully.  "How 
do  you  know?"  he  asked  sharply,  hoping  to  take  her 
unawares. 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  removed  her  gaze  from  the 
house  boat  to  look  at  him  in  surprise.  She  disliked  to 
tell  him  how  many  times  she  had  been  entertained  on 
that  very  house  boat,  that  in  common  with  the  other 
girls  of  Waloo  she  adored  young  Mrs.  Bingham  and 
looked  upon  her  as  the  woman  most  to  be  envied  in  the 
world.  As  she  did  not  wish  to  tell  him  the  truth  she 
looked  down  at  the  river,  which  seemed  to  take  so  little 
interest  in  what  took  place  on  or  by  it,  in  what  Smith 
Jones  thought  was  guilty  confusion  and  murmured 
vaguely :  "I  know,  all  right." 

There  was  nothing  for  him  to  say  in  reply  and  they 
stood  there  gazing  after  the  house  boat  and  its  gay 
party  which  was  pushed  beyond  them  a  short  distance 
and  then  swung  toward  the  shore. 

239 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Why — why,  they're  going  to  land!"  Smith  Jones 
was  astonished. 

"Then  there  must  be  a  trout  preserve  back  in  the 
country.  Old  Mr.  Bingham  is  probably  with  them  and 
he's  crazy  about  fishing."  She  watched  for  a  moment 
longer,  until  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  party  was 
going  to  land  on  the  opposite  shore,  when  she  gave  her- 
self a  little  shake  and  threw  up  her  head.  "I  am  going 
back  to  the  cottage,"  she  told  him  clearly.  "I  am 
ashamed  that  I  left  Aunt  Martha  alone." 

"She  isn't  alone.     John  is  with  her." 

"I  am  going  back,"  she  insisted. 

"How?"  and  he  smiled  slightly.  He  thought  he  knew 
so  well  why  she  wanted  to  go  back,  to  tell  Aunt  Martha 
that  their  quarry  had  arrived. 

"Swim,"  she  told  him  briefly.  "It  isn't  far  and 
there's  scarcely  any  current  on  the  other  side  of  the 
island." 

"Can  you  swim?"    He  was  incredulous. 

She  thought  he  was  laughing  at  her  and  turned  her 
back  to  him.  "Watch  me,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder 
and  started  across  the  little  island. 

He  did  not  follow  her  and  when  she  stood  beside  the 
water's  edge  on  the  other  side  and  she  did  not  see  him 
she  was  puzzled  and  worried.  Surely  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  stay  there  and  make  his  way  to  the  house  boat. 
Perhaps  he  had  a  confederate  on  board  who  was  wait- 

240 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ing  for  him.  But  he  couldn't  steal,  not  from  her  friends, 
with  her  and  Aunt  Martha  in  a  way  dependent  upon 
his  protection.  Surely  the  old  vine  rule  had  not  lost 
all  of  its  merit.  Her  lip  quivered  as  she  kicked  off  a 
patent  leather  pump  and  stood  on  one  foot,  like  a  stork, 
and  thought  how  much  more  tangled  life  was  even  than 
it  had  been  a  short  hour  ago.  Should  she  go  back  and 
see  what  he  was  doing  or  should  she  mind  her  own  busi- 
ness and  swim  over  to  Aunt  Martha? 

The  sound  of  a  paddle  made  her  look  down  stream 
and  there,  in  the  canoe  that  she  had  thought  was  on 
its  way  to  New  Orleans,  was  Smith  Jones,  his  face  one 
black  frown. 

"The  canoe  was  caught  in  an  eddy  at  the  end  of  the 
island  and  swung  in,"  he  explained  briefly.  "Jump  in, 
I'll  paddle  you  over.  You  don't  need  to  swim  and  get 
wet." 

She  gasped,  recovered  her  pump  and  let  him  help 
her  into  the  canoe  without  a  word.  Her  face  was  scar- 
let. How  she  had  misjudged  him.  Perhaps  if  she  had 
been  wrong  now,  she  had  been  wrong  in  other  things. 
She  hoped  she  had,  but  she  did  not  see  how  she  could  be. 

He  did  not  speak  either  but  paddled  rapidly  to  the 
dock  where  he  helped  her  out.  She  stood  and  looked 
at  him  wistfully  as  he  drew  the  canoe  out  of  the  water. 
Then  she  glanced  across  at  the  house  boat,  whose  upper 
deck  she  could  just  glimpse  above  the  bushes. 

241 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Don't  you  think,"  she  ventured  to  suggest,  "that 
I  might  go  over  and  ask  for  some  gasoline?  They  are 
sure  to  have  a  lot." 

He  did  not  look  at  her  as  he  answered.  He  was  too 
heartsick. 

"No,  you  may  not.  There  must  be  no  communica- 
tion between  the  cottage  and  that  house  boat."  His 
voice  was  explosive.  It  made  her  jump. 

"Oh,"  was  all  she  said  and  after  a  moment  she  turned 
and  went  up  the  bank.  She  did  not  care  if  the  sheriff 
was  at  the  top.  She  would  be  glad  if  he  were,  even  if 
he  arrested  them  all.  Then  she  would  know  the  truth 
and  she  would  not  have  a  heartache  that  was  far  too 
large  for  her  size.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she 
reached  the  top  and  stood  looking  back  where  Smith 
Jones  was  still  busy  with  the  boats  and  then  across  at 
the  house  boat. 

With  a  sigh  she  went  around  the  house.  She  shook 
her  fist  at  it  as  it  rambled  yellowly  beside  her.  The 
gypsy  had  been  right.  Yellow  was  a  color  to  be 
avoided. 

Evidently  the  sheriff  had  not  arrived  and  she  was  no 
nearer  the  solution  of  her  problem  than  she  had  been. 
She  sat  down  on  the  steps  and  wished — she  scarcely 
knew  what  she  wished — but  her  thoughts  were  as  un- 
pleasant as  the  thoughts  of  a  nineteen-year-old  girl 
could  be. 

242 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


They  were  diverted  by  a  howl,  a  frightened  meow, 
and  she  jumped  up  to  see  Larson  holding  the  black  kit- 
ten in  his  huge  hairy  paw. 

"You  durned  cat !"  he  cried  angrily.  "I'll  wring 
your  neck  for  jumping  on  me  like  that!" 

Sallie  was  beside  him  in  a  flash.  "Don't  you  dare 
wring  that  kitten's  neck!  Don't  you  dare!"  She 
stamped  her  foot  and  tried  in  vain  to  reach  the  wrig- 
gling bunch  of  black  fur  that  he  held  above  her. 

"You  bet  I  will  wring  her  neck!"  Larson  insisted 
angrily.  "You  hain't  got  no  business  with  a  cat  in 
quarantine.  She's  full  of  germs.  I  hain't  goin'  to  let 
her  carry  smallpox  all  over  the  country.  I'm  goin' 
t'  kill  her  now.  You  kept  her  pretty  close,  didn't  ye? 
But  I  know  about  her  now  and  she'll  have  her  neck 
wrung." 

"Put  that  cat  down!"  ordered  a  voice  behind  them. 
Smith  Jones  had  come  up  from  the  dock  and  around  the 
cottage  in  time  to  hear  the  threat.  "Put  that  cat 
down !"  he  repeated  in  the  same  forceful  voice  and  he 
seemed  to  tower  over  Larson,  who  promptly  lost  an  inch 
in  height.  "You  brute !  What  do  you  mean  by  saying 
you'll  kill  the  young  lady's  pet?" 

"She's  full  of  germs,"  muttered  Larson  but  he  re- 
leased the  kitten. 

Sallie  caught  it  up.  "Oh!"  she  gasped.  Her  eyes 
were  misty  as  she  gazed  at  Smith  Jones.  "I  could  for- 

243 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


give  you  anything  for  that."  The  wave  of  anger  that 
had  obsessed  her  against  Larson  ebbed  and  as  she  looked 
at  Smith  Jones  and  he  looked  at  her  another  wave  ran 
through  her,  touching  every  vein,  and  sending  the 
color  to  her  face  in  a  crimson  flood.  Smith  Jones  moved 
impulsively  toward  her  and  she  straightened  suddenly 
and  holding  the  kitten  closer  fairly  ran  up  the  steps 
into  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AUNT  MARTHA  was  peacefully  perusing  a 
volume  of  agricultural  reports  that  she  had 
found  and  which  she  hoped  would  enable  her  to 
converse  more  intelligently  with  the  guardians  at  the 
gate  when  she  was  interrupted  by  the  hurried  entrance 
of  a  miniature  hurricane,  a  feminine  hurricane,  in  a 
white  blouse  and  a  green  skirt,  a  hurricane  whose  face 
was  as  pink  as  a  rose  and  whose  eyes  were  like  in- 
candescent lights  and  who  held  a  trembling  bunch  of 
black  fur  tight  to  her  heart. 

"Aunt  Martha !  Aunt  Martha !"  began  the  hurricane 
breathlessly.  "You  don't — you  don't  really  think  that 
Smith  Jones  is  a  thief?  Do  you?"  She  put  her  hand 
on  her  aunt's  shoulder  and  almost  shook  her. 

"Why — why,  Sallie!"  Aunt  Martha  lost  interest  in 
the  new  variety  of  corn  that  had  been  imported  from 
South  Africa  as  peculiarly  suited  to  the  climate  of  the 
north  central  states.  "Why,  Sallie,"  she  repeated  help- 
lessly. 

245 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Sallie  dropped  the  kitten  and  threw  herself  into  a 
chair,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands.  The  agricultural 
reports  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  dull  thud. 

"You  don't  honestly  think  that  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  are  thieves?"  Sallie  gave  her  aunt  an- 
other glimpse  of  her  crimson  countenance  as  she  re- 
peated the  question  and  added  John  Johnson's  name. 

Aunt  Martha  hesitated  and  frowned.  "Well,"  she 
said  so  slowly  that  Sallie  longed  to  really  shake  her. 
"I  haven't  much  reason  to  think  that  they  are  anything 
but  what  they  appear  to  be,  gentlemanly  well-bred,  well- 
educated  young  men.  It  was  you  who  told  me  that  they 
were  thieves,  gentleman  thieves,  you  said.  I  didn't 
understand  how  a  man  could  be  both  a  thief  and  a 
gentleman  until  I  read  'Raffles'  and  'Arsene  Lupin' 
and  those  other  stories  and  then  I  remembered  Mr. 
Brown.  I  don't  suppose  you  knew  him,  Sallie,  he  was 
an  elder  in  the  Presbyterian  church  and  he  embezzled 
fifty  thousand  dollars  from  a  trust  company.  Perhaps 
embezzlement  and  burglary  are  not  quite  the  same  but 
they  don't  look  very  different  to  me.  But  in  regard  to 
our  young  friends,"  she  paused  to  look  thoughtfully  at 
her  niece,  "so  far  as  I  can  recollect  all  the  ground  you 
had  for  your  suspicions  was  a  stray  sentence " 

"No,  not  all,"  Sallie  interrupted  and  she  sat  up  and 
told  her  in  a  jumbled  torrent  of  words  that  the  Cabot 
residence  in  Waloo  had  been  robbed.  She  had  not  told 

246 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


her  before  because  she  did  not  wish  to  worry  her  but  she 
had  known  all  along,  ever  since  that  night  they  had 
found  refuge  from  the  storm  in  the  cottage.  She  quoted 
the  description  of  Gentleman  Jones  and  his  pal  from 
the  Gazette  and  they  seemed  to  fit  Smith  Jones  and 
John  Johnson  as  an  apple  fits  its  skin.  She  told  her 
about  the  ring  and  the  locket  that  was  now  locked  in 
the  motor  trunk,  and  the  silver  with  the  Cabot  crest 
that  was  locked  in  the  closet.  She  had  kept  all  of  these 
things  to  herself  for  days  and  days,  for  years,  it  seemed ; 
because  she  did  not  wish  to  worry  her  aunt,  but  she 
could  not  keep  them  a  minute,  not  a  second  longer. 

"Robbed !  My  house  in  Waloo !"  Aunt  Martha  was 
surprised  but  she  did  not  have  hysterics  nor  seem  as 
excited  as  Sallie  had  feared  she  would  be.  Indeed,  she 
was  quite  calm.  "I  hope  those  old  Napoleon  prints  in 
the  library  were  taken,"  she  even  said.  "Your  uncle 
used  to  say  that  they  were  worth  their  weight  in  gold.  I 
should  like  to  think  that  someone  was  really  enjoying 
those  prints.  I  hate  them  myself,"  she  confessed.  "But 
why  do  you  think  that  Smith  and  John  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  robbery?"  She  had  not  followed  Sallie  be- 
yond that  first  fact. 

Sallie  told  her  again,  a  trifle  more  coherently  about 
the  ring  and  the  locket  and  the  silver.  Aunt  Martha's 
eyes  bulged  dangerously  and  her  cheeks  flushed. 

"Your  picture,  Aunt  Martha,  was  in  the  locket.    Yes, 

247 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


I  am  sure-positive!  It  is  the  miniature  that  Uncle 
Joshua  always  wore  on  his  watch  chain,  the  one  with 
your  hair  parted  and  drawn  back  into  a  funny  knot  in 
the  back  and  your  gown  low  off  the  shoulders  and  you 
have  that  string  of  seed  pearls  around  your  neck  that 
you  gave  me  when  I  was  eighteen." 

"Well,  upon  my  word,"  murmured  dazed  Aunt 
Martha.  There  was  a  short  pause  in  which  Aunt 
Martha  regarded  Sallie  thoughtfully  and  Sallie  gazed 
at  her  Aunt  Martha  tearfully.  "You  know,  Sallie," 
Aunt  Martha  said  slowly,  "after  that  first  night,  when 
you  frightened  me  almost  to  death  and  we  left  the 
money  on  the  dresser  for  Smith  and  John  to  take  if 
they  were  thieves  and  nothing  came  of  it,  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  you  were  either  mistaken  or  joking.  And  the 
more  I  saw  of  the  two  boys  the  more  convinced  I  was 
that  you  didn't  know  what  you  were  talking  of.  And 
then  I  read  'Raffles'  and  I  must  confess  I  didn't  know 
what  to  think.  I  like  Smith  and  John.  I  have  never  met 
young  men  I  liked  any  better,  never  met  men  better 
bred  nor  more  interesting.  If  I  hadn't  read  'Raffles' 
and  remembered  Mr.  Brown  I  wouldn't  have  understood 
how  they  could  be  what  they  seem  and  at  the  same  time 
be  thieves.  It's  all  wrong,  of  course,  all  wrong.  What 
I  should  like  to  know  is  what  made  them  thieves?"  She 
looked  at  Sallie  as  if  she  expected  her  to  answer  the 
question. 

248 


Up  the  Rood  with  Sallie 


Sallie  shook  her  head.  She  had  a  question  of  her  own 
to  propound.  "But  how  did  they  get  the  ring  and  the 
locket  and  the  silver,  Aunt  Martha?  Never  mind  the 
newspaper  story  nor  the  things  that  they  have  said,  like 
picking  locks,  that  make  you  sure  that  they  are  thieves, 
but  what  can  you  say  about  the  locket  with  your  picture 
in  it?" 

"I  can't  say  anything,"  admitted  Aunt  Martha,  star- 
ing out  of  the  window  and  into  the  branches  of  a  hard 
maple  whose  foliage  glowed  like  fire  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine. 

"When  I  saw  the  Henderson  house  boat — "  Sallie  be- 
gan again  in  a  lower  voice. 

Aunt  Martha  shifted  her  eyes  quickly  from  the  glow- 
ing maple  to  the  pallid  Sallie.  "The  Henderson  house 
boat?"  she  interrupted.  "What  do  you  mean,  Sallie 
Waters?" 

Sallie  promptly  told  her  what  she  meant,  that  she 
had  seen  the  Loafer  tie  up  on  the  other  shore,  that  she 
had  seen  young  Mrs.  Hiram  and  Hiram  the  Second, 
himself,  and  their  friends,  had  heard  the  gruff  voices 
of  old  Mr.  Henderson  and  old  Mr.  Bingham  and 
that  the  Waloo  Gazette  had  said  that  they  would  make 
a  trip  up  the  river  to  show  their  Eastern  friends  that  the 
Mississippi  Valley  could  be  more  beautiful  in  its  gay 
autumn  clothes  than  any  Rhine  or  Hudson. 

"It's  a  shame  they  didn't  come  earlier,"  Sallie  finished 

17  249 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


drearily.  "The  foliage  isn't  half  as  gorgeous  as  it  was 
before  the  rain." 

Aunt  Martha  had  risen  from  her  chair  authorita- 
tively. "Get  your  things,  Sallie.  We  will  ask  Judith 
to  take  us  in." 

Sallie  scrambled  to  her  feet  also  and  there  was  a 
startled  gleam  in  her  blue-green  eyes.  "But  my  car!" 
she  cried.  "I  can't  go  without  the  Blue  Bird,  Aunt 
Martha.  You  don't  know  what  that  car  means  to  me. 
Why,  it  grew  from  a  gallon  of  gasoline  under  my  bed !" 
Her  voice  rose  shrilly,  but  she  stopped  suddenly  as  she 
saw  the  firmness  in  Aunt  Martha's  usually  placid  face. 

"Gasoline!"  Aunt  Martha  said  contemptuously. 
"Gasoline!  You  have  thought  entirely  too  much  of 
gasoline.  In  my  day  a  girl  didn't  think  of  gasoline," 
she  stopped  suddenly.  That  might  be  true  but  it  was 
decidedly  irrelevant.  "I'll  get  you  another  car,"  she 
promised.  "A  bigger  and  better  one  and  tons  of  gaso- 
line," she  added  desperately. 

"Gallons,"  corrected  Sallie  mechanically. 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  Aunt  Martha  went  on  thought- 
fully, "that  Richard  is  on  the  Loafer.  The  Binghams 
would  be  sure  to  invite  him  with  such  a  party.  Richard 
will  look  after  us  now."  And  she  spoke  as  if  she  would 
be  glad  to  have  Richard  look  after  her. 

"Richard!"  Sallie's  eyes  bulged  now.  That  was  a 
shock.  More  than  ever  she  did  not  wish  to  go  to  the 

250 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


house  boat  if  Richard  Cabot  was  there,  Richard  with  his 
cool  common  sense,  his  sound  business  judgment,  his 
ability  to  add  two  and  two  so  that  they  invariably  made 
four.  Why,  Richard  would  insist  on  knowing  every 
little  thing  that  had  happened  since  she  and  Aunt 
Martha  had  left  the  Cabot  house  and  when  he  heard  of 
the  locket  and  the  ring,  when  he  heard  of  the  silver! 
She  threw  out  her  hands  in  despair.  If  Richard  was  on 
that  boat  she  would  just  have  to  speak  to  Smith  Jones 
and  John  Johnson  and  tell  them  of  the  danger  that 
confronted  them.  On  the  road  Murphy  swore  to  shoot 
anyone  who  tried  to  break  quarantine.  On  the  river 
was  Richard,  who  always  called  a  spade  a  spade  and 
who  had  a  strong  sense  of  civic  duty. 

"Aunt  Martha,"  she  began  and  choked  and  stopped. 

Aunt  Martha  looked  at  her  sharply  before  she  put 
her  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"Sallie,"  she  said  and  there  were  unexpected  depths 
of  feeling  in  her  soft  voice.  "I  have  done  as  you 
wished  since  you  ran  away  with  me,  haven't  I?" 

Sallie  nodded,  she  could  not  speak. 

"I  have  done  things  that  my  training  and  common 
sense  told  me  were  perfectly  foolish.  I  have  made 
friends  with  gypsies  and  tramps  and  now  with  thieves. 
But  we  can't  keep  this  up  indefinitely.  The  situation  is 
a  little  beyond  us  even  now.  We  have  a  splendid  oppor- 
tunity to  get  away  from  it  on  the  Loafer.  Never  mind 

251 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  silver,  I  shan't  miss  it.  Never  mind  the  locket,  the 
ring,  nor  the  other  things.  We  needn't  say  a  word  about 
them  to  Richard.  We  need  only  tell  him  that  we  were 
storm-bound  here  and  never  mention  these  boys." 

That  was  true.  It  was  not  necessary  to  tell  Richard 
all  they  knew.  Sallie's  face  cleared. 

"And  I  have  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Henderson  will  find 
room  on  the  lower  deck  for  your  car  if  you  feel  that  you 
must  take  it  with  you,"  Aunt  Martha  finished  kindly. 
"Now,  come  and  get  your  things  together." 

"Yes,  Aunt  Martha,"  submissively.  The  submission 
was  only  skin  deep.  Behind  her  complacent  counte- 
nance there  was  a  seething  turmoil.  Aunt  Martha  need 
not  think  that  she  was  going  away  without  saying  good- 
by  to  Smith  Jones  and  to  John  Johnson.  She  did  not 
care  if  they  were  thieves.  They  had  been  kind  to  her 
and  kind  to  Aunt  Martha.  Their  kindness,  their 
thoughtfulness  were  what  she  was  going  to  think  of,  not 
their  crimes.  And  she  had  influenced  them,  she  knew 
she  had,  and  what  kind  of  a  reformer  was  he  who 
abandoned  a  case  without  so  much  as  a  decent  word  of 
farewell  ? 

"Aunt  Martha,"  the  words  sounded  like  a  firecracker 
for  they  were  driven  from  her  lips  by  a  sudden  thought 
that  had  to  be  expressed  immediately.  "That  money ! 
the  roll  of  bills!  Shan't  we  take  it  with  us?  Where 
did  you  hide  it?" 

253 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"That  is  right."  Aunt  Martha  stopped  on  the 
threshold."  I  had  forgotten  about  it.  I'll  get  it." 

Full  of  confidence  and  importance  she  walked  over 
to  the  bookcase  and  took  down  a  couple  of  volumes. 

"Smith  told  me,"  she  explained  in  a  stage  whisper, 
"that  no  burglar  would  ever  think  of  looking  behind 
books  for  valuables.  I  thought  he  should  know  so  we 
put  the  bills  behind  this  set  of  Parkman." 

Sallie  helped  her  remove  volume  after  volume  of  Mr. 
Parkman's  works  from  the  shelf  but  there  was  nothing 
behind  them. 

"Why-why!  It's  gone!"  Aunt  Martha  could  not 
believe  her  eyes.  "Sallie!  We  put  it  right  there  in 
the  corner  and  it's  gone."  She  looked  at  her  wildly. 

Sallie  had  turned  as  white  as  milk.  "It  is  certainly 
gone,"  she  said  and  her  voice  had  an  odd  tremble  in 
it.  "Which  one  of  them  do  you  suppose  took  it?" 
Her  lips  were  a  straight  line  and  firm.  This  was  the 
last  straw.  She  could  overlook  the  locket  and  the  ring, 
and  the  silver,  Aunt  Martha  had  said  she  might,  but 
the  roll  of  bills  that  Aunt  Martha  had  trusted  to  them ! 
It  was  a  straw  heavy  enough  to  break  any  camel's  back 
or  any  girl's  confidence. 

"Are  you  looking  for  your  money?"  asked  a  voice 
behind  them  and  swinging  around  they  stared  into  the 
face  of  Smith  Jones.  "It  isn't  there.  I  took  it,"  he 
said  coming  into  the  room. 

253 


CHAPTER    XX 

SALLIE  WATERS'  heart  turned  a  complete  somer- 
sault. She  stared  at  Smith  Jones  as  if  she  had 
never  seen  him  before  and  did  not  care  to  see  him 
now.  In  his  face  was  nothing  but  kindly  interest.  She 
could  not  detect  the  slightest  sign  of  guilt.  How  deeply 
dyed  in  crime  he  must  be  to  take  advantage  of  two  help- 
less women,  one  of  them  sixty-three  years  old,  who  were 
practically  at  his  mercy  and  to  do  it  so  unblushingly. 
How  could  he  rob  them  when  they  had  intrusted  all  they 
had  to  his  keeping?  She  thrilled  again  as  she  stared 
at  him  but  it  was  a  very  different  thrill  from  that  which 
had  run  over  her  like  a  flame  when  she  had  looked  into 
his  eyes  not  half  an  hour  before.  She  had  been  mis- 
taken in  that  thrill,  she  knew  now.  She  could  feel  noth- 
ing but  contempt  and  disgust  toward  a  man  who  could 
do  the  contemptible  disgusting  things  that  Smith  Jones 
had  done.  She  fairly  trembled  with  the  anger  and  con- 
tempt she  felt  and  turned  away  until  she  could  control 
the  muscles  of  her  mouth. 

254 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


After  the  first  shock  of  surprise  Aunt  Martha's  eyes 
kindled.  She  was  disappointed  and  disgusted,  also; 
grieved  that  she  had  found  something  wrong  in  Judge 
Cabot's  estimate  of  human  nature.  "Show  a  man  you 
trust  him  and  you  can  trust  him,"  had  been  a  maxim 
with  him.  And  the  first  time  Aunt  Martha  followed  it 
of  her  own  free  will  she  was  taken  advantage  of.  She 
certainly  had  shown  Smith  Jones  that  she  trusted  him 
to  the  extent  of  five  hundred  dollars,  less  their  expenses 
from  Waloo,  and  the  result  had  been  that  she  had  lost 
her  money.  Smith  Jones  shamelessly  confessed  that 
he  had  taken  it.  But  in  confessing  that  he  had  ac- 
knowledged that  he  was  a  thief.  The  subject  was  at 
last  open  and  now  they  could  get  down  to  facts.  She 
could  learn  without  being  regarded  as  inquisitive,  some- 
thing her  reserved  nature  and  her  old-fashioned  train- 
ing made  impossible,  just  what  Sallie  meant  when  she 
had  said  that  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  were 
gentlemen  thieves. 

Before  she  could  formulate  the  question  that  would 
open  Smith  Jones'  heart  and  make  him  tell  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth;  confess  the  why  and  the  how  of  his 
criminal  career,  Sallie  began  to  stammer: 

"H-how  could  you?"  she  only  got  that  far  when  they 
heard  an  indignant  voice,  a  woman's  voice,  outside. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  it  rang  in  through  the  win- 
dows shrilly,  "by  sticking  your  nasty  yellow  cards  all 

255 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


over  my  house,  you,  Murphy?  You  can  just  take  them 
down.  Smallpox?  Fiddlesticks!  There  isn't  any 
smallpox  in  my  house  nor  anything  else." 

"That's  all  you  know  about  it,  Mrs.  Henry,"  Murphy 
said  pacifically,  not  belligerently  as  he  had  addressed 
the  cottagers.  "You  got  four  visitors  that  I  know  of 
and  how  many  more  the  Lord  knows.  I  hain't  been  in 
to  investigate.  It  hain't  my  business  to  interview  small- 
pox germs  an'  I  jes5  followed  Dr.  Reilly's  orders  an* 
put  up  a  quarantine  card  and  saw  to  it  that  the  quar- 
antine wasn't  broke." 

"Dr.  Reilly's  orders!"  the  contempt  fairly  sizzled. 
"And  who's  Dr.  Reilly  that  he  should  order  you  to  tack 
cards  all  over  my  innocent  house?  What  you've  done, 
Tim  Murphy,  is  to  come  to  the  wrong  place.  That's 
what  you've  done!  There's  smallpox  at  Wrigley's  on 
the  main  road.  I  met  Dr.  Hudson  on  my  way  home 
and  he  said  there  was  a  case  there  and  he  couldn't  under- 
stand why  Dr.  Reilly  hadn't  ordered  it  quarantined. 
He  said  if  it  got  out  that  he  hadn't  it  would  kill  Dr. 
Reilly  at  the  election,  sure.  Dr.  Reilly  claims  he  sent 
a  man  out  with  cards  and  directions  and  Wrigley  swears 
he  hasn't  seen  hide  nor  hair  of  him  but  he's  kept  quaran- 
tine as  strict  as  if  there  were  yellow  cards  all  over  the 
farm.  What  you  did  was  to  take  the  wrong  turn  at 
the  crossroads.  You  should  have  kept  on  the  main  road. 
Wrigley's  is  the  first  house  beyond  the  fork.  You  came 

256 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


on  and  took  the  first  place  on  the  right  and  stuck 
up  your  nasty  yellow  cards  all  over  my  innocent 
house." 

"It's  the  owner,"  Sallie  whispered  unnecessarily  to 
Aunt  Martha  as  they  stood  at  the  window  and  saw 
a  woman  in  a  buggy  at  the  gate.  Her  brown  horse 
nibbled  the  fence  post  carelessly  as  his  driver  gave 
Murphy  a  generous  piece  of  her  mind. 

"My  soul  an'  body!"  Murphy  exclaimed  when  she 
would  let  him  speak.  "Hev  I  done  a  fool  trick  like 
that?  Gosh!  It's  as  much  Larson's  fault  as  mine. 
We  don't  either  of  us  know  much  about  this  part  of  the 
country,  we  live  the  other  side  of  Prussia.  Larson 
heard  the  orders,  same  as  me,  and  we  came  out  together. 
I  mind  we  was  talkin'  'bout  Reilly's  chances  when  we 
come  to  the  crossroads  and  we  didn't  agree.  We  got  in 
quite  a  little  argyment  an'  I  suppose  we  didn't  notice 
where  we  was  goin'.  The  folks  here  are  queer,  there's 
something  suspicious  about  'em,  Mrs.  Henry,  even 
though  they  are  your  friends.  They  said  they  hadn't 
any  smallpox  but  that  jes'  made  me  sure  they  had.  I 
don't  take  no  chances  'th  that  calamity.  I  lost  my 
brother-in-law,  Annie's  husban',  in  the  epidemic  las'  year 
an'  while  I  was  willin'  to  see  that  quarantine  was  kept 
for  two  dollars  a  day  I  wasn't  goin'  to  view  any  small- 
pox patient.  That's  Dr.  Reilly's  business.  An'  we've 
been  barking  up  the  wrong  tree.  Shucks !  I  guess  I 

257 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


better  take  these  cards  over  to  Wrigley's  as  fast  as  I 
can." 

"I  guess  you  had,"  Mrs.  Henry  told  him  dryly,  as 
she  slapped  her  stead  with  the  reins  to  remind  him  that 
fence  posts  were  not  planted  as  food  for  horses.  "And 
next  time  you  go  on  a  job  make  sure  you  know  where 
it  is." 

Murphy  was  far  too  crushed  to  make  a  suitable  reply 
but  he  wasted  no  time  in  collecting  his  possessions. 
Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie  watched  him  from  the  window 
with  keen  enjoyment.  He  who  had  been  such  an  auto- 
crat to  them  was  now  in  the  dust  and  they  liked  to  see 
him  there. 

"She  looks  horribly  stern,"  Sallie  murmured. 

"What  do  you  suppose  she  will  say  when  she  hears 
that  we  have  been  making  ourselves  at  home  here  ?"  ques- 
tioned Aunt  Martha,  wondering  what  she  would  say  if 
she  should  find  her  home  in  the  possession  of  four 
strangers  when  she  returned  to  it. 

Sallie  could  not  tell  her  but  she  squeezed  her  hand 
and  told  her  not  to  fear,  that  they  had  right  and  com- 
mon sense  upon  their  side.  "She  looks  like  a  loaf  of 
French  bread,"  she  added.  "As  if  the  crusty  part  was 
all  on  the  outside." 

They  watched  her  as  she  drove  up  the  driveway 
slowly  as  if  noting  the  changes  that  had  taken  place 
during  her  absence.  She  drew  in  her  horse  suddenly 

258 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


and  scrambled  over  the  wheel  with  an  agility  that  they 
would  not  have  thought  possible. 

"Well,  upon  my  word !"  they  heard  her  gasp.  "My 
boy !  My  boy !"  And  she  ran  forward  awkwardly  as 
middle-aged  women  always  run. 

Sallie  and  Aunt  Martha  leaned  out  to  see  "her  boy" 
and  glimpsed  Smith  Jones,  who  had  run  down  the  steps 
to  meet  her.  He  seemed  as  glad  to  see  her  as  she  was 
to  see  him  and  grinned  happily  as  he  kissed  first  one 
apple  cheek  and  then  the  other. 

"And  to  think  I  wasn't  here  when  you  came,"  she 
fussed.  "If  I'd  known  I  wouldn't  have  moved  a  step." 
She  pushed  him  away  so  that  she  could  look  into  his 
face.  "You  haven't  changed  a  mite."  She  evidently 
took  deep  satisfaction  from  that  fact.  "My  dear,  you 
do  look  good  to  your  old  Nanny.  And  to  think  you 
came  back  and  found  the  old  house  empty.  Silas  and 
I  went  over  to  Emma's,  you  remember  Emma?  She 
was  sick  and  sent  for  me  the  day  the  storm  began. 
There  wasn't  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't  go.  You 
hadn't  given  me  a  hint  that  you  were  coming  this  way. 
I  supposed  that  job  in  Waloo  would  take  you  longer. 
Were  you  lucky  in  it?"  eagerly  and  without  waiting  to 
hear  whether  he  was  or  not,  she  rambled  on.  "So  Silas 
and  I  harnessed  up  and  drove  over.  Then  the  storm 
came  up  and  there  didn't  seem  any  reason  why  we 
shouldn't  stay  until  it  was  over.  And  that  numskull 

259 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


of  a  Larson  put  you  in  quarantine.  He  hasn't  sense 
enough  to  catch  smallpox.  You  poor  boy !  You  must 
be  nigh  starved.  But  I'll  look  after  you  now.  I'll 
make  you  waffles  for  supper.  My,  how  many  waffles 
you  used  to  eat.  You're  going  to  stay  and  make  a  real 
visit,  ain't  you?  Why,  I  haven't  seen  you  for  over  a 
year.  What  did  that  Murphy  man  mean  by  saying 
there  were  four  people  here?"  she  stopped  on  the  lower 
step  to  ask  him.  "You  haven't  company,  have  you? 
If  that  doesn't  beat  all !  Never  stirring  from  the  place 
week  in  and  week  out  and  then  when  I  do  go  off  to  help 
a  sick  sister  this  is  what  happens.  My  boy  comes  back 
to  an  empty  house." 

"It  wasn't  an  empty  house."  Smith  Jones  managed 
to  slip  a  word  in  edgewise  and  stem  the  verbal  torrent. 
"And  we've  done  very  well.  Don't  you  worry  your 
blessed  old  head.  I  declare  you  grow  younger 
every  time  I  see  you.  But  I  have  friends  with  me,  John, 
you  remember  old  Jack?  and"  he  hesitated  before  he 
added  firmly,  "two  ladies." 

"Ladies!"  she  shrieked.  "For  the  land's  sakes! 
And  this  house  wasn't  swept  for  two  days  before  I 
went  away.  Oh,  my  boy,  how  could  you?"  The  de- 
spair of  a  disgraced  housekeeper  filled  her  voice  with 
woe. 

"I  don't  think  any  of  us  noticed  whether  there  was 
dust  on  the  piano  or  not.  We  were  too  glad  to  get 

260 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


under  shelter  to  care  when  the  place  was  swept.  Come 
in,  Mrs.  Fuss,  and  meet  my  friends." 

Aunt  Martha  and  Sallie  stepped  hurriedly  from  the 
window  and  were  engaged  in  replacing  the  works  of  Mr. 
Parkman  when  Smith  Jones  and  Mrs.  Henry  entered. 

Smith  Jones  introduced  them  gladly.  He  felt  that 
in  Mrs.  Henry  he  had  a  strong  ally.  He  was  glad  to 
have  a  woman  to  help  him  in  dealing  with  women  and 
there  was  a  sturdy  honesty  about  Mrs.  Henry  that  won 
confidence.  Sallie  would  recognize  it  and  be  impressed 
by  it.  And  Mrs.  Henry  would  talk  to  Sallie  like  a 
mother.  Poor  Sallie,  who  had  had  no  one  but  an  aunt 
to  bring  her  up.  Just  at  that  moment  he  regarded 
Aunt  Martha  as  worse  than  no  one.  Aunt  Martha 
should  know  better  than  she  had  done. 

The  three  women  smiled  pleasantly,  if  a  bit  stiffly. 
Aunt  Martha  murmured  her  appreciation  of  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Henry  had  her  cottage  on  that  particular 
spot  so  that  it  had  served  as  their  refuge  when  they  so 
sadly  needed  one. 

"We  have  made  an  awful  hole  in  your  pantry,"  Sallie 
confessed.  "But  you  wouldn't  have  wished  us  to  starve, 
I  know.  And  your  bread  was  delicious,  the  best  I  ever 
ate." 

At  once  she  was  enthroned  in  Mrs.  Henry's  good 
graces.  No  housekeeper  can  listen  to  praises  of  her 
bread  unmoved. 

261 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Of  course,"  Aunt  Martha  went  on  in  a  very  stately 
fashion,  "we  expect  to  pay  for  what  we  have  used. 
Money  couldn't  pay  for  all  we  have  had,"  and  she  smiled 
at  Mrs.  Henry  as  she  had  smiled  on  the  greatest  in  the 
land  and  Mrs.  Henry  drew  herself  up  proudly  although 
bewildered.  Aunt  Martha  stopped,  bewildered,  also. 
She  had  said  that  she  would  pay  and  she  had  not  a  cent 
in  the  world.  Sallie  had  not  a  cent,  either.  Smith  Jones 
had  all  their  money.  "Mr.  Jones  will  reimburse  you," 
she  finished  firmly.  "He  is  my  banker  at  present." 

At  that  Sallie  laughed  outright.  She  couldn't  help 
it.  Smith  Jones  laughed  also. 

"Jones  ?"  repeated  Mrs.  Henry  more  bewildered  than 
ever.  "You  don't  owe  me  anything,  Mrs.  Smith.  This 
isn't  my  house.  I'm  just  the  housekeeper  for  my  boy 
here,"  and  she  slipped  her  hand  under  Smith  Jones' 
arm  as  he  stood  beside  her  and  gazed  at  him  as  if  he 
were  the  whole  terrestrial  sphere.  "This  house  and  all 
that's  in  it  belongs  to  him." 

"Belongs  to  him?"  Aunt  Martha  managed  to  repeat 
that  much  before  her  voice  left  her. 

"You — you've  been  the  owner  all  of  the  time  ?"  gasped 
Sallie,  her  eyes  opening  wider  and  wider  until  they 
were  as  big  as  service  plates  and  even  then  they  were 
not  large  enough  to  hold  all  of  the  surprise  that  she  felt. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  confession.  Smith 
Jones  colored  as  he  admitted  that  he  was  the  owner  of 

262 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  rambling  yellow  cottage  with  white  trimmings.  "I 
don't  know  why  I  made  a  secret  of  it  unless  I  thought 
at  first  it  would  be  less  embarrassing  if  you  imagined  we 
were  all  in  the  same  boat.  And  then  later — I  don't 
know  why  I  didn't  tell  you  later.  It  really  doesn't  make 
any  difference.  You  see  I  almost  forgot  that  I  do  own 
it.  I'm  here  so  seldom,  just  come  when  the  world  gets 
too  hot  for  me.  Then  I  slip  away  to  Mrs.  Henry  and 
try  to  forget  that  there  are  such  things  as  crimes  and 
courts." 

"And  you  do  forget,"  insisted  Mrs.  Henry  fondly. 
"You  go  back  twice  the  man  you  come.  And  Mr.  John, 
too.  Where  is  he?  You  said  he  was  here,  didn't  you?" 
and  she  looked  about  as  if  she  suspected  John  Johnson 
of  concealing  himself  somewhere  in  the  room. 

"Here  am  I,"  answered  John  Johnson  for  himself,  as 
he  crossed  the  porch  and  came  into  the  room.  He  had 
a  big  tin  can  in  each  hand  and  he  put  them  down  to  hug 
and  kiss  Mrs.  Henry,  who  patted  him  on  the  back  and 
told  him  he  had  grown  an  inch  since  she  had  seen  him 
and  was  twice  as  handsome  as  he  had  been  the  last 
time  he  was  with  her. 

Sallie  scarcely  heard  them.  She  was  staring  at  one 
big  can.  Smith  Jones  looked  at  the  other. 

"Gasoline!"  they  cried  almost  in  duet. 

John  grinned  proudly.  "You  bet  it's  gasoline.  I 
broke  quarantine,"  he  confessed,  "and  got  a  lift  into 

263 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


town.  Who  do  you  think  picked  me  up?  The  sheriff. 
Yes,  sir  and  ma'ams.  The  sheriff  of  Prussia.  Who 
says  that  I  have  not  a  full  supply  of  nerve?  He  was  so 
mad  he  never  looked  at  me.  It  seems  there  really  is 
smallpox  up  the  road  and  for  some  reason  the  case 
wasn't  quarantined.  I  never  said  a  word  about  the 
yellow  card  on  our  front  door.  I  held  my  tongue  and 
listened  to  him  sputter.  I  don't  think  he  realized  I  was 
beside  him.  If  he  had!"  he  paused  suggestively.  "I 
gather  that  there  is  one  man  in  the  county  who  is  due 
for  an  unpleasant  hour  if  the  sheriff  ever  finds  him. 
But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I  got  the  gasoline 
and  a  man  to  bring  me  out.  Say,  I  see  the  card  is 
down.  Are  we  out  of  quarantine?" 

"Out  of  quarantine."  Smith  Jones  slapped  him  on 
the  back.  "And  with  gasoline.  Why,  we're  free,  old 
man,  we  can  go  when  and  where  we  please."  And  then 
he  looked  at  Sallie  and  realized  with  a  sudden  thump  of 
his  heart  that  he  wasn't  free  to  go  when  and  where  he 
pleased.  He  would  have  to  make  sure  that  Sallie  was 
safe  first  and  then  he  had  to  have  her  promise  not  to 
steal  again.  And  then — he  would  never  be  free  while 
Sallie  with  her  big  blue-green  eyes  and  laughing  lips 
was  in  the  world.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  free. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

SALLIE  WATERS  sat  on  the  porch  steps  in  the 
brownest  of  brown  studies.  She  was  finding  life 
even  more  perplexing  and  disagreeable  than  Sis- 
ter Genevieve  at  the  convent  had  prophesied.  She 
thought  of  the  quiet  convent  with  its  shaded  allees,  its 
calm-faced  sisters,  almost  with  envy.  She  wished  that 
she  were  there,  that  she  had  never  left  it.  Then  she 
remembered  that  the  France  of  now  was  not  the  peace- 
ful country  she  had  known,  and  she  sighed.  She  almost 
resolved  to  sell  her  car  as  soon  as  she  returned  to 
Waloo  as  she  recalled  how  far  peaceful  France  was. 
Blue  Bird  was  responsible  for  her  present  difficulties, 
for  Sallie  was  woman  enough  to  blame  anyone  or  any- 
thing but  herself,  and  if  she  had  not  had  Blue  Bird  she 
never  could  have  abducted  her  aunt  in  her  own  road- 
ster. Yes,  she  thought,  she  would  sell  Blue  Bird  and 
give  the  proceeds  to  the  French  Red  Cross  work.  She 
would  like  to  give  herself,  also,  but  no  Red  Cross  would 
want  such  a  stupid,  incapable  inane  creature  as  the  first 

18  265 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


real  test  she  had  had  to  meet  proved  her  to  be.  Why, 
if  she  had  had  a  pennyweight  of  brains,  if  she  had  ever 
been  even  a  college  freshman,  she  would  have  questioned 
Smith  Jones  that  first  night,  when  she  had  seen  the 
ring ;  she  would  have  collected  facts  and  statistics  about 
him  and  made  notes  of  him  but — she  could  not  make  a 
statistic  of  Smith  Jones.  That  was  the  trouble,  she 
could  make  nothing  of  him  and  so  she  was  one  heart- 
ache, five  feet  and  four  inches  of  miserable  heartache, 
as  she  sat  on  the  steps  in  the  sun. 

Through  the  open  window  she  could  hear  Mrs.  Henry 
explaining  to  Aunt  Martha  that  they  had  not  deserted 
the  black  kitten;  that  Silas  had  carefully  carried  the 
little  tyke  to  the  nearest  neighbor,  who  had  unfortu- 
nately forgotten  to  butter  her  paws  and  consequently  the 
kitten  had  returned  to  the  cottage  where  she  probably 
would  have  starved  to  death,  to  her  everlasting  shame, 
if  Aunt  Martha  had  not  kindly  come  to  take  care  of 
her.  She  thanked  Aunt  Martha  profusely  for  coming 
quite  as  if  Aunt  Martha  had  left  Waloo  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  save  the  black  kitten  from  starvation. 

Sallie  listened  to  her  listlessly.  She  would  far  rather 
Mrs.  Henry  had  talked  of  men  than  of  kittens.  Per- 
haps she  would  even  yet  tell  Aunt  Martha  something  of 
the  two  men,  whom  she  seemed  to  know  so  well,  but  no 
matter  what  she  told,  Sallie  was  positive  that  in  all  the 
days  the  four  had  spent  together  in  the  cottage  no  one 

266 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


could  have  surpassed  the  courtesy  and  gentle  considera- 
tion with  which  Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  had 
treated  them.  No  one!  She  had  never  met  men  as 
kindly,  as  considerate,  as  attractive.  That  was  what 
made  it  all  so  horrible.  She  did  have  to  admit  that 
apparently  they  had  one  defect.  But  who,  she  would 
like  to  know,  was  perfect?  Everyone  had  faults  and 
was  it  any  worse  to — to  steal  than  to  lie  and  cheat,  to 
drink  and  gamble  as  so  many  men  did?  A  careful  con- 
sideration of  this  momentous  question  brought  the  tears 
to  her  eyes  and  she  winked  resolutely  to  send  them  back 
where  they  belonged.  She  was  not  the  weepy  type  of 
girl,  she  told  them  firmly,  she  never  had  been  and  she 
just  would  not  be  now. 

She  was  still  winking  back  the  tears  when  an  auto- 
mobile drove  up  the  road  and  stopped  at  the  gate.  A 
man  stepped  from  it  and  carae  up  the  driveway.  Sallie 
caught  her  lip  between  her  teeth  and  shrank  back  as 
she  saw  the  J.  P.  of  Prairieyille.  She  was  afraid  to 
think  what  might  have  brought  him.  She  could  not 
move,  she  could  only  sit  there  as  if  carved  from  wood 
and  wait  until  he  told  her  his  errand. 

The  J.  P.  saw  a  woman  on  the  porch  and  removed 
his  hat.  "I  wonder,"  he  said — how  Sallie  remembered 
his  smooth  voice — "if  you  have  any  gasoline  to  spare? 
My  tank  should  have  been  filled  at  the  garage  in  Prus- 
sia but  I  am  more  convinced  now  than  ever  that  if 

£67 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


you  want  a  thing  well  done  you  must  do  it  yourself." 

Sallie  stopped  biting  her  lower  lip  and  her  heart 
stopped  trying  to  choke  her.  She  even  managed  to 
laugh  softly  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  went  forward, 
devoutly  praying  that  a  kind  Providence  would  keep 
Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson  wherever  they  were. 

"Why — why,"  gasped  the  J.  P.  and  he  brushed  his 
hand  before  his  eyes  as  if  there  were  cobwebs  there. 
"Why — you!"  the  pronoun  sounded  like  an  explosion. 

As  she  heard  it  Sallie  lost  all  fear  of  him  and  for 
Smith  Jones  and  John  Johnson.  The  J.  P.  might  be 
an  official  but  he  was  first  of  all  a  man.  Sallie  might 
be  afraid  of  mice — she  was  old-fashioned,  you  remem- 
ber— and  of  measuring  worms  and  of  breaking  mir- 
rors, but  she  was  not  afraid  of  men.  She  even  smiled 
saucily  at  this  man. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  demurely.  "It  is  too  bad  you 
have  broken  down." 

"It  is  not  too  bad  at  all!"  flatly  contradicted  the 
J.  P.,  a  pleasant  smile  lighting  his  face.  He  sat  down 
on  the  steps  as  if  he  had  all  the  time  in  the  world  in 
which  to  talk  of  gasoline.  "Did  you  have  a  pleasant 
run  from  Prairieville  ?"  he  said  to  start  the  conversa- 
tional ball. 

"Very  pleasant,"  twinkled  Sallie.  "Although  the 
road  is  atrocious.  There  was  ab-so-lute-ly  no  tempta- 
tion to  speed." 

268 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"You  are  staying  here?"  the  J.  P.  inquired  next. 

Sallie  regarded  the  tips  of  her  brown  fingers.  "Yes." 
She  admitted  that  much  and  no  more  and  she  kept  her 
eyes  on  her  fingers. 

The  J.  P.  looked  at  them  also  and  then  his  smile  grew 
into  a  laugh.  "I  have  been  thinking  about  you,"  he 
confessed  honestly.  "I  don't  think  it  is  safe  for  two 
women  like  you  and  your  aunt  to  go  motoring  around 
the  country  alone.  Haven't  you  any  brothers  or  fathers 
to  make  you  stay  at  home  or  go  with  you?" 

"No,  not  one  of  either  of  them,"  Sallie  spoke  sadly 
and  shook  her  head.  "But  in  this  feministic  day  women 
don't  have  to  stay  at  home,  they  don't  have  to  have 
their  brothers  and  fathers  with  them,  either.  They  can 
go  out  and  seek  their  fortune  alone." 

"And  have  you  found  yours — your  fortune?"  The 
J.  P.  edged  closer  and  bent  forward  to  look  into  her 
eyes  but  she  never  looked  at  him  for  she  was  staring 
beyond  him  at  a  man  who  had  come  up  from  the  river 
around  the  corner  of  the  cottage. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  the  newcomer  called  diffidently, 
as  if  he  realized  he  was  interrupting  that  most  impor- 
tant thing,  a  tete-a-tete,  "but  have  you  any  gasoline  to 
spare?  I  have  a  launch  tied  up  down  on  the  river.  A 
leak  in  the  tank  robbed  me — well,  for  the  love  of  Mike !" 
he  exclaimed  as  he  saw  Sallie. 

"My  word !"  breathed  Sallie,  and  she  rose  and  offered 

269 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


her  hand  to  the  grower  of  prize  Wealthy  apples,  who 
looked  at  it  as  if  it  were  a  diamond  larger  than  the 
Cullinan.  "I  never  expected  to  see  you  here,"  which 
was  quite  true  for  she  had  supposed  that  he  was  miles 
and  miles  up  the  river  by  now  with  his  friend  the 
Chicago  detective.  The  color  flipped  from  her  face  as 
she  remembered  the  detective. 

"Nor  I  you,"  he  said,  before  she  could  ask  him  if  he 
were  alone.  He  might  have  lost  the  detective.  "I'm 
camping  on  a  little  island  down  in  the  river,"  he  nodded 
in  the  direction  of  the  Mississippi.  "I  have  a  friend 
with  me  who  is  enjoying  a  regular  Rip  Van  Winkle  nap 
in  the  boat."  Sallie  hoped  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart  that  it  really  would  be  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  nap. 
"We're  on  a  fishing  trip  now  that  the  apples  are  boxed. 
Have  you  had  a  pleasant  time?  Honestly,  I  think  you 
made  a  mistake  in  not  taking  that  job  of  picking  apples 
and  helping  me  out." 

"I  believe  I  did,"  she  agreed  heartily,  as  she  recalled 
all  that  had  happened  since.  "But  it  was  not  my  fault. 
My  aunt  didn't  fancy  herself  on  ladders  and  I  couldn't 
stay  without  her.  And  what,"  she  smiled  pleasantly 
on  the  law  and  on  horticulture  alike,  after  she  had  made 
them  known  to  each  other,  "have  you  both  been  doing 
since  I  saw  you?" 

Before  they  could  begin  to  tell  her  John  Johnson 
joined  them  and  a  few  moments  later  Smith  Jones  saun- 

270 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


tered  out.  Sallie's  heart  thumped  most  unpleasantly 
as  the  J.  P.  shook  hands  with  them  but  there  was  noth- 
ing in  his  genial  countenance  to  show  that  he  recognized 
either  of  them  as  law  breakers.  Indeed,  he  scarcely 
looked  at  them,  he  was  too  occupied  in  looking  at  Sallie. 

She  sat  in  the  center  of  the  group  and  distributed 
her  glances  impartially  on  the  J.  P.  enthroned  in  a 
chair  on  her  right,  as  law  should  be,  on  horticulture  on 
her  left,  on  John  Johnson  on  the  steps  at  her  feet  and 
on  Smith  Jones  perched  on  the  rail  at  her  right  and 
the  four  men  turned  toward  her  as  the  needle  of  a  com- 
pass turns  toward  the  north. 

Aunt  Martha  heard  strange  voices  and  curiosity  took 
her  to  the  window.  She  saw  the  J.  P.  first  and  clapped 
her  hand  to  her  mouth  to  silence  the  exclamation  that 
rose  to  her  lips  before  she  fled  back  to  Mrs.  Henry. 
She  was  still  sensitive  over  the  fact  that  for  a  brief 
while  she  had  been  under  arrest.  She  felt  that  she  could 
not  bear  to  hear  anyone  refer  to  it  and  so  she  went 
hurriedly  back  to  Mrs.  Henry  who  did  not  know  of  her 
disgrace. 

On  the  porch  it  was  horticulture  at  last  who  shook 
his  shoulders  and  remarked  rather  pointedly  to  law: 
"You  are  going  on  to  Lincoln  tonight?" 

"Eh?"  the  J.  P.  had  been  studying  the  fingers  of 
Miss  Waters,  as  they  rested  on  her  green  corduroy  skirt 
and  the  question  had  to  be  repeated.  "Yes,  Oh,  yes. 

271 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


And  I  should  be  off  if  I  may  borrow  some  gasoline. 
If  not,  I'll  have  to  stay."  And  he  laughed  as  if  he 
would  not  mind  at  all  if  they  refused  to  loan  him  gaso- 
line. 

"I'll  have  to  stay  too,  then,"  remarked  Mr.  Harvey 
Bent,  settling  himself  more  comfortably  in  his  chair. 
"I  don't  care  a  straw  whether  you  loan  me  gasoline  or 
not,"  he  confessed.  "I  had  just  as  soon  stay  on." 

"It's  a  lucky  thing,"  John  Johnson  took  the  cigar 
from  his  mouth  to  remark  lazily,  "that  I  brought  some 
gasoline  from  Prussia  this  very  afternoon." 

"Indeed,"  remarked  the  J.  P.,  a  bit  crestfallen. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  the  apple  man,  decidedly  crestfallen, 
so  much  so  that  Smith  Jones  kindly  invited  him  to  stay 
for  supper  and  continue  his  journey  by  the  light  of  the 
hunter's  moon,  which  is  quite  as  brilliant  and  beautiful 
as  any  harvest  moon  that  ever  shone. 

He  included  the  J.  P.  in  the  invitation  and  Sallie 
went  to  carry  the  good  news  to  Mrs.  Henry  so  that  she 
would  provide  waffles  accordingly. 

The  four  men  smoked  in  silence  until  she  returned 
but  they  regarded  each  other  furtively.  Each  was  eager 
to  learn  what  the  others  knew  of  Sallie — Smith,  but 
not  one  of  them  asked  the  question.  They  smoked  in 
silence  until  the  subject  of  their  thoughts  announced 
that  supper  was  served. 

Sallie  had  some  difficulty  in  persuading  Aunt  Martha 

272 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


that  she  could  sit  at  the  same  table  with  the  J.  P.  who 
had  tried  her  as  a  law-breaker. 

"I  can't  do  it,  Sallie !"  She  almost  wept.  "I  should 
die  if  he  should  even  hint  at  what  happened." 

Smith  Jones  overheard  her  and  frowned.  What  was 
there  that  the  J.  P.  could  tell  that  would  make  Aunt 
Martha  die?  He  came  to  a  sudden  determination  that 
Sallie  should  tell  him  herself  and  before  she  left  the 
cottage — that  very  night  at  the  latest. 

John  Johnson  waylaid  her  as  they  went  into  the  din- 
ing-room. "It  is  your  gasoline,"  he  reminded  her.  "I 
brought  it  out  from  town  for  you  and  if  you  give  it  to 
those  men  why " 

"I'll  have  to  stay  a  little  longer,"  she  said.  "Well, 
I'll  have  to  stay  or  they  will.  I'll  let  you  choose,"  she 
dimpled. 

"Choose!"  There  wasn't  any  choice,  there  couldn't 
be,  and  he  himself  saw  that  the  J.  P.'s  car  received  gaso- 
line enough  to  carry  him  to  the  next  town. 

Sallie  walked  down  to  the  gate  with  the  J.  P.  He 
had  been  a  very  considerate  J.  P.  Never  by  so  much 
as  a  look  had  he  reminded  Aunt  Martha  that  she  had 
been  brought  before  him  in  his  official  capacity. 

"Smart  little  car,  you  have,"  Sallie  told  him  politely. 

"Good  enough,"  he  admitted  absently.  "Say,"  he 
said  suddenly,  "when  am  I  to  see  you  again?"  There 
was  no  doubt  that  he  wished  to  see  her  again  and  he 

273 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


was  so  much  in  earnest  that  Sallie  flushed  uncomfort- 
ably. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  she  said  truthfully,  if  rather 
flatly. 

"Don't  put  it  that  way,"  he  begged.  "I'm  coming  to 
Waloo  the  middle  of  the  month  and  I'll  search  the  town 
until  I  find  you." 

"I  wonder,"  Sallie  rolled  a  stone  under  the  toe  of  her 
pump,  "how  you  would  begin  your  search?" 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  the  J.  P.  answered  kind- 
ly. "I  shall  inquire  for  the  smartest  shop  in  town  and 
station  myself  at  the  door  until  you  come.  This  is  the 
season,"  sagely,  "when  the  thoughts  of  women  turn 
naturally  to  clothes.  You'll  be  sure  to  come  to  the 
smartest  shop  soon." 

Sallie's  eyes  opened  wide.  "No  wonder  you  are  a  J. 
P. !  I'm  surprised  you're  not  on  the  supreme  bench." 
There  was  such  admiration  in  her  voice  that  they  both 
laughed.  "In  that  case  I  might  as  well  tell  you  at  once 
that  you  are  right,  my  name  is  not  Sarah  Elizabeth 
Smith  but  Sarah  Elizabeth  Waters  and  I  live  at  1534 
Oak  avenue — when  I  am  home,"  she  added  hastily  be- 
cause he  looked  as  if  he  had  heard  that  he  had  just 
been  nominated  to  the  supreme  bench. 

"You'll  be  home  some  time,"  he  prophesied  gladly, 
"1534  Oak  Avenue.  I'll  remember  and  I'll  see  you  very 
soon.  Good-by."  He  held  her  hand  much  longer  than 

274 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


was  at  all  necessary  according  to  the  three  men  on.  the 
porch,  who  glowered  at  him  until  he  climbed  into  his 
car,  waved  his  hand  and  was  off. 

"I  must  go,"  Mr.  Bent  remarked  suddenly  when  Sal- 
lie  came  back  up  the  drive.  "Don't  you  want  to  walk 
over  to  the  bank  with  me?"  He  singled  her  out  rather 
pointedly.  "There  is  still  some  of  the  sunset  left."  He 
spoke  as  if  the  sunset  were  the  preserved  peaches  they 
had  had  for  supper.  "What,"  he  asked  as  she  stood  be- 
side him  on  the  river  bank  and  enjoyed  the  remnants 
of  the  sunset,  "do  you  think  of  apple  growing?"  He 
spoke  somewhat  jocularly  but  he  did  not  feel  jocular. 
He  felt  anxious. 

She  cocked  her  head  on  one  side  and  studied  the  top 
of  a  red  maple  tree  before  she  answered;  it  reminded 
her  in  color  of  one  of  Mr.  Bent's  own  apples.  "It  is  a 
pretty  business,"  she  said  at  last,  frowning  thought- 
fully. "At  least  I  don't  know  of  anything  that  is  pret- 
tier than  a  tree  covered  with  red  and  yellow  apples 
unless  it  is  the  same  tree  covered  with  pink  and  white 
blossoms." 

He  could  have  told  her  of  something  far  prettier  than 
any  apple  tree  but  he  did  not.  He  only  expressed  his 
delight  at  her  admiration  of  apple  trees  in  bloom  and 
in  fruit.  "And  there  is  a  lot  to  apple  raising  besides 
beauty.  It  pays.  Why  I  would  be  ashamed  to  tell  you 
how  much  some  fellows  make.  I  should  like  you  to 

275 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


know  more  about  it.    Are  you  going  to  be  here  long?" 

He  as  good  as  told  her  that  he  would  remain  in  camp 
on  the  island  for  as  long  as  she  stayed  in  the  cottage 
on  the  bank  and  his  face  fell  when  she  shook  her  head 
and  told  him  she  was  off  almost  at  once. 

"But  you  should  hear  what  I  have  to  say,"  he  was 
dismayed.  "The  story  of  the  reclamation  of  old 
orchards  is  as  interesting  as  any  fairy  tale." 

"I'd  love  to  hear  it,"  she  vowed  and  she  would.  She 
liked  to  hear  stories  of  any  kind,  especially  when  they 
were  told  by  a  man  as  pleasant  faced  as  young  Harvey 
Bent.  She  had  always  liked  his  mouth,  she  had  told 
Aunt  Martha  how  much  she  had  admired  it  that  very 
first  day. 

Suddenly  his  face  lighted.  "I'll  come  to  Waloo," 
he  promised.  "I'll  bring  the  apples  to  you,  myself," 
he  made  the  offer  hopefully. 

"You  may,"  she  told  him  pleasantly.  "And  then  you 
can  tell  me  the  story.  I  am  sure  that  I  should  know 
more  of  the  products  and  industries  of  my  own  state. 
That  is  what  Richard  says." 

"Richard?"  he  frowned. 

"My  cousin,"  she  was  good  enough  to  say.  "My 
aunt's  nephew." 

"Cousin,"  he  grumbled.  "Where  shall  I  find  you 
when  I  come  to  explain  apple  raising?" 

"The  name  my  sponsors  gave  me  is  Sarah  Elizabeth 

276 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


and  the  rest  of  it  is  Waters  and  I  live  at  1534  Oak 
Avenue." 

He  made  a  note  of  it.  "Thank  you.  Then  I  shall 
see  you  later.  A  pleasant  journey  back  to  Waloo. 
Julius  Cassar!  you'll  pass  the  orchard.  I'll  wake  my 
Rip  Van  Winkle  friend  and  tell  him  that  the  fishing 
trip  is  over.  We'll  start  back  at  once  so  that  you'll 
find  me  underneath  the  trees." 

"Do."  She  was  glad  to  hear  that  the  Chicago  detec- 
tive would  be  taken  away  at  once.  She  did  not  regard 
hivn  as  a  desirable  neighbor.  "I'll  look  for  you,"  she 
promised,  giving  him  her  hand  which  he  held  very  much 
longer  than  John  Johnson  thought  was  necessary  as 
he  saw  them  from  the  back  porch. 

Sallie  waved  her  hand  to  Mr.  Bent  as  he  scrambled 
down  the  path  a  little  awkwardly  under  the  burden  of 
his  borrowed  gasoline,  and  then  sauntered  toward  the 
cottage.  John  Johnson  ran  down  the  steps  to  meet  her. 

"Well?"  he  said.  There  was  a  big  interrogation 
mark  after  the  word  but  Sallie  did  not  show  she  heard 
it  for  she  asked  a  question  herself. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  apple  business,  John 
Johnson  ?" 

"I  don't  care  a  hang  about  the  apple  business,"  he 
told  her  honestly.  "Look  here,  Sallie,  do  you  really 
mean  to  go  away  tomorrow?" 

"I  haven't  any  choice,"  Sallie  admitted  sadly.    "Aunt 

277 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Martha  has  put  her  foot  down.  She  declares  we  have 
stayed  too  long  already." 

"Too  long !"  he  cried ;  as  if  she  could  stay  too  long. 
"Too  long!" 

"The  only  choice  I  have  is  as  to  the  manner  of  our 
going,  the  car  or,"  she  turned  and  looked  at  the  Hender- 
son house  boat  which  was  touched  with  points  of  light 
as  brightly  as  a  city  street. 

"The  Henderson  house  boat."  He  looked  from  it  to 
her  and  then  he  took  his  courage  in  both  hands  and 
asked  desperately:  "Say,  Sallie,  who  are  you?  Oh,  I 
know  Smith  isn't  your  real  name,  but  I  can't  let  you  go 
away  until  you  tell  me  who  you  are  and  where  I  may 
see  you  again?" 

Sallie  laughed  gkefully*_.^Clever  man,"  she  mocked, 
"to  be  so  sure  that  my  name  is  not  Smith.  I  don't  mind 
telling  you,"  she  went  on  confidentially,  "that  you  are 
altogether  right.  My  name  is  really  Sarah  Elizabeth 
Waters  and  when  I  am  at  home  I  live  at  1534  Oak  Ave- 
nue where  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you."  The  last 
sentence  spoke  itself  and  she  stopped  at  the  end  of  it 
rather  startled.  Would  she  be  glad  to  see  a  burglar, 
even  a  gentleman  burglar,  at  her  own  home? 

"Will  you?"  John  Johnson  wanted  to  know  also. 
"Will  you?" 

"Any  time  I'm  home,"  she  nodded  and  her  voice  was 
firm.  She  would  be  glad.  She  didn't  care  what  he  was. 

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Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 

The  radiance  died  out  of  his  face  as  the  sun  slipped 
from  the  sky  to  bed.  "Are  you  ever  at  home?"  he  de- 
manded wistfully. 

"That,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder,  "would  be  tell- 
ing. It  is  for  you  to  find  out." 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE  afterglow  had  almost  faded  from  the  sky. 
The  gorgeous  reds  and  golds  of  an  hour  be- 
fore had  left  only  a  tender  memory  of  pink 
and  mauve  when  Smith  Jones  found  Sallie  standing 
on  the  porch  looking  at  what  was  left  and  think- 
ing of  anything  but  a  sunset.  He  did  not  waste 
words  in  one  preliminary  remark,  but  began  imme- 
diately to  carry  out  the  resolution  which  he  had 
made. 

"Sallie,  why  didn't  your  aunt  wish  to  meet  the  Jus- 
tice of  the  Peace?"  he  demanded  abruptly. 

Sallie  tore  her  eyes  from  the  fading  mauve  in  the 
west  and  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  It  was  not  what 
she  had  expected  him  to  say  when  she  had  heard  his 
step  behind  her.  "What  makes  you  think  she  didn't?" 
she  asked  in  turn. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently.  "Don't  fool, 
please,"  he  begged,  and  his  voice  was  earnest  enough. 
"You  know  I'll  do  anything  for  you  and  for  your  aunt, 

280 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


that  I  only  live  to  serve  and  help  you,  but  I  can't  help 
you  unless  you'll  tell  me " 

"That's  just  the  way  I  feel  about  you!"  she  broke 
in  eagerly.  In  a  flash  she  realized  what  she  had  said 
and  turned  crimson.  "Aunt  Martha  and  I  both  feel 
that  way,"  she  stammered,  seemingly  deriving  comfort 
from  the  companionship  of  Aunt  Martha.  "We  want 
to  help  you.  We  have  tried  to  help  you  in  all  these 
days  we  have  been  together." 

The  frown  slipped  from  his  face.  "They  have  been 
good  days,  haven't  they?  We  won't  forget  them,  will 
we  ?  And  by  the  memory  of  the  good  times  we  have  had 
together,  by  the  great,"  he  swallowed  hard,  "friendship 
I  have  for  you  I  want  to  ask  you  to  give  up  what 
you're  doing.  It  isn't  safe  for  a  girl,  it  isn't  right. 
You'll  be  caught  some  time,  and  there  won't  be  anyone 
to  help  you.  I  know,"  he  nodded.  "Promise  me  to 
give  it  up." 

He  was  very  much  in  earnest,  so  much  so  that  he 
trembled,  although  she  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what 
he  really  meant.  She  naturally  thought  that  he  agreed 
with  the  J.  P.  in  thinking  that  it  was  not  safe  for  two 
women  to  go  motoring  about  alone.  How  old-fashioned 
— how  quaint,  they  were  and — how  dear.  Safe.  Why 
she  and  Aunt  Martha  were  as  safe  as  they  would  be 
anywhere.  They  had  proved  it.  They  had  met  noth- 
ing but  courtesy  in  their  journey.  She  was  about  to 

19  281 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


tell  him  this  when  she  realized  that  her  long-looked-for 
opportunity  had  come. 

"If  I  promise  will  you  promise  me  something?"  she 
bargained,  her  face  as  pink  as  a  rose. 

He  would  promise  her  anything  if  she  would  only 
promise  him  what  he  asked,  and  he  told  her  so  em- 
phatically. "You  bet  I  will!  I'll  promise  anything 
you  like." 

"Then,"  she  caught  the  lapel  of  his  coat  as  if  she 
feared  he  would  run  away  when  he  heard  what  she 
wished,  and  spoke  hurriedly,  "you  won't  go  back  to 
the  old  life  when  you  leave  the  cottage?  John  told  me 
you  were  thinking  of  changing  your — "  she  hesitated — 
"profession,  and  you  will,  won't  you?  You'll  promise 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf?  Aunt  Martha  and  I'll  do  all 
we  can  to  help  you,"  she  promised. 

"You  will?"  His  hand  slipped  up  until  it  covered  the 
fingers  on  his  coat. 

"What  made  you  ever  do  it  ?"  wistfully.  She  couldn't 
imagine  how  he  had. 

"It  was  my  father."  He  spoke  absently,  for  he  was 
not  thinking  of  his  work  but  how  deep  and  true  her 
eyes  were  and  just  now  how  troubled.  He  wanted  to 
take  the  trouble  away  and  put  something  else  in  their 
blue-green  depths. 

"Your  father !"  she  gasped,  bewildered. 

"He  wanted  me  to  be  in  the  same  line  he  was,  al- 

282 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


though  he  didn't  do  so  well  at  it,"  went  on  Smith  Jones 
in  that  same  absent  manner.  "It  was  my  grandfather 
who  was  the  big  gun.  But  my  father  made  me  promise 
to  keep  it  up  for  two  years  and  then,  if  I  didn't  take 
to  it,  I  could  go  in  for  something  else." 

"And  you  will?"  The  fingers  under  his  thumped 
against  his  chest  in  her  eagerness.  "Oh,  you  will?  If 
you  don't — if  you  don't  I  shan't  ever  have  a  peaceful 
moment !" 

"You  mean  you  care?"  He  snatched  the  hand  from 
his  coat  and  held  it  firmly  as  he  bent  down  to  look  into 
her  face.  He  forgot  her  past,  he  forgot  everything 
but  their  present.  "You  care?  Oh,  my  dear! — dar- 
ling— "  His  arms  were  around  her  holding  her  close 
against  his  beating  heart.  His  lips  pressed  hot  against 
her  cheek. 

For  a  moment  she  clung  to  him — she  let  him  hold 
her  close — let  him  kiss  her.  She  felt  as  if  he  had 
opened  the  gates  of  Paradise  and  drawn  her  in.  But 
only  for  a  moment.  Then  she  remembered  and  pushing 
him  from  her  she  slipped  from  his  arms  and  ran  down 
the  porch  and  into  the  house  where  Aunt  Martha  was 
at  the  bookcase,  peering  behind  the  set  of  Parkman 
again. 

She  looked  around  as  Sallie  came  in  like  a  whirlwind. 
"It  is  very  strange,  Sallie,"  she  said,  perplexed.  "But 
I  can't  believe  that  Smith  Jones  took  that  money.  I 

283 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


just  can't  make  myself  believe  it  even  if  he  did  say 
he  did." 

Sallie  caught  her  and  shook  her.  "Even  if  he  did?" 
she  questioned  sharply  before  she  hid  her  face  on  Aunt 
Martha's  shoulder.  "Aunt  Martha!  Aunt  Martha!" 
She  held  her  away  as  she  cried  passionately :  "We  have 
got  to  reform  Smith  Jones!  Do  you  hear?  We  have 
got  to  reform  him!"  She  released  her  and  flew  up  the 
stairs. 

"Upon  my  word !"  Aunt  Martha  stared  after  her  in 
dismay.  What  did  the  child  mean?  Surely  she  didn't 
think  she  was — Smith  Jones  was  attractive,  the  most 
attractive  man  she  knew — but  surely  Sallie  couldn't — 
she  wouldn't — a  thief — why,  why 

She  was  just  that  far  when  Smith  Jones  came  in. 
He  was  pale,  and  there  was  a  tenseness  in  his  face  and 
in  his  body  that  made  Aunt  Martha  draw  herself  up 
and  assume  her  most  formal  Madame  Cabot  manner. 

"Where  is  Sallie  ?"  asked  Smith  Jones  abruptly. 

"She  has  gone  upstairs."  Aunt  Martha  looked  at 
him  curiously.  If  his  face  was  tense  his  voice  showed 
a  strain  also. 

"Has  she?"  Smith  Jones  moved  restlessly  about  the 
room.  He  saw  the  books  Aunt  Martha  had  taken  from 
their  place  and  he  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket.  "I  should 
have  given  you  this  before,"  he  said.  "It  didn't  seem 
safe  to  leave  it  there  while  there  was  a  chance  that 

284 


I  am  Mrs.  Cabot,  Mrs.  Joshua  Cabot  of  Waloo.'" 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  quarantine  people  might  be  all  over  the  cottage. 
I  took  the  liberty  of  moving  it.  Here  is  your  money." 
And  he  offered  her  the  roll  of  bills  they  had  hidden 
together.  "I  think  you  had  better  carry  it  instead 
of  giving  it  to  Sallie,"  he  suggested. 

"Upon  my  word!"  murmured  Aunt  Martha,  and  she 
stared  from  the  roll  of  bills  in  his  hand  to  his  irregu- 
lar features.  Her  eyes  were  keen  and  searching.  She 
shook  her  head  before  she  said,  very  formally.  "Mr. 
Jones,  we  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time  together  in 
this  cottage  since  we  were  storm-bound,  but  our  stay 
is  almost  over.  My  niece  and  I  will  go  on  tomorrow. 
We  can't  thank  you  for  your  shelter  and  your  kind- 
ness. Of  course,  we  know  that  your  name  is  not  really 
Smith  Jones.  Neither  is  mine  Smith."  Smith  Jones 
caught  his  breath  and  drew  nearer,  his  face  eager.  At 
last  he  was  going  to  hear  the  truth,  learn  who  they 
were.  "The  alias — is  that  what  you  call  it? — suited 
the  little  comedy  we  played,  but  before  we  part  I  should 
like  you  to  know  that  I  am  Mrs.  Cabot,  Mrs.  Joshua 
Cabot  of  Waloo." 

He  just  stood  and  stared  at  her.  She  could  see  that 
his  face  whitened. 

"Mrs.  Cabot!"  His  voice  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  whisper.  "Mrs.  Joshua  Cabot,"  he  repeated  as  if  he 
just  could  not  believe  it,  "of  Waloo." 

"Yes,"  she  smiled.     "You  are  surprised?"     Whether 

£85 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


he  really  was  the  thief  who  had  robbed  her  house,  as 
Sallie  said  he  was,  or  whether  he  was  just  an  agreeable, 
likable  young  man  without  any  mystery  about  him,  he 
naturally  would  be  surprised  to  hear  that  she  was  Mrs. 
Joshua  Cabot  of  Waloo. 

"Surprised!"  His  voice  shook  with  the  surprise  he 
felt.  "Mrs.  Joshua  Cabot !"  he  said  again. 

"Yes."  She  held  out  her  white  hand.  "And  you 
are — "  She  hesitated  and  waited  for  him  to  tell  her 
who  he  was. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

RICHARD  CABOT  gave  his  hat  and  coat  to  Jud- 
kins  with  a  kindly  smile.  Richard  always  smiled 
in  kindly  fashion  upon  those  who  served  him. 
"It  pays,"  he  said  briefly,  and  it  paid  him.  It  is  im- 
material whether  servants  hastened  to  do  his  bidding 
because  of  the  kindly  smile  or  because  of  the  something 
that  was  in  Richard  that  told  everyone  he  met  that 
some  day  he  would  be  president  of  the  Waloo  National 
Bank.  The  important  fact  is  that  he  was  always  served 
well. 

"Well,  Judkins,"  he  had  said  with  the  kindly  smile 
for  servitors  of  Judkins'  high  class.  "And  how  is 
Madame  Cabot  tonight?" 

"Very  good,  sir.  Very  good!  Since  Madame  Cabot 
returned  from  her  little  journey  she  has  been  very  good, 
uncommonly  bright,  if  I  may  say  so,  sir." 

There  was  something  in  the  way  he  spoke  of  Madame 
Cabot's  brightness  that  made  Richard  pause  on  the 
threshold  of  the  drawing-room  door. 

287 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"Is  that  so?  Then  she  hasn't  worried  over  the  rob- 
bery as  we  feared  she  would?" 

"Bless  you,  no,  sir.  She  made  nothing  of  it  at  all. 
You'd  have  thought  the  loss  was  nothing  to  her,  sir. 
And  we  cudgeling  our  brains  as  to  how  we  should  break 
the  news  to  her.  She  did  say,  sir,  that  if  the  thieves 
had  only  taken  the  prints  and  bust  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte she  would  have  been  grateful." 

"She  did?"  Richard  was  surprised.  "She  has 
changed." 

"You'll  see  it,  sir,  as  soon  as  you  clap  your  eyes  on 
her.  She's  come  back  twenty  years  younger,  sir,  and 
that  outspoken.  She  doesn't  hesitate  to  speak  her  mind 
now,  sir.  Madame  Cabot  isn't  old" — Judkins  himself 
was  over  fifty  so  sixty-three  was  but  a  good  age  to  him 
— "but  while  the  Judge  lived  he  liked  to  have  her  act  as 
old  as  he  did  and  since  he  died  she  has  kept  on  being  an 
old  lady  but  now,  well,  you  can  see  for  yourself,  Mr. 
Richard.  She  brought  a  black  cat  back  with  her.  I've 
been  in  this  house  for  over  twenty  years  and  I  never 
saw  no  pets  but  gold  fish.  They  was  the  perfect  ones, 
the  Judge  always  said.  But  Madame  Cabot  has  a  black 
cat  now.  There's  other  things,  little  things,  that  show 
a  man  who  has  his  eyes  open  that  she  isn't  the  same 
woman  she  was,"  confidentially.  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir,"  he  coughed  discreetly  and  put  out  his  hand  as 
Richard  placed  one  foot  over  the  threshold,  "but  do 

288 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


I    understand    that    the    thieves    have    been    caught?" 

"Yes,  I  have  them,"  Richard  said  over  his  shoulder, 
as  if  single-handed  he  had  gone  out  and  captured  the 
burglars.  "They  were  caught  up  the  river  on  their 
way  to  Canada.  But  I  understand  that  Madame  Cabot 
is  not  going  to  press  any  charges  against  them.  She  is 
satisfied  to  have  her  property  returned.  Women,  you 
know,  Judkins,  are  sentimental." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know."  Judkins  looked  as  if  he  could 
have  told  Richard  volumes  on  the  sentiment  of  women 
as  no  doubt  he  could  for  Richard's  knowledge  concerned 
credits  and  mortgages,  not  women. 

It  was  not  a  month  since  Madame  Cabot  had  gathered 
her  nephews  and  nieces  about  her  to  explain  her  plans 
in  regard  to  the  final  disposal  of  the  Cabot  millions. 
She  had  said  then  that  she  did  not  care  to  see  them 
again  for  a  year  and  now,  in  less  than  thirty  days,  she 
had  asked  them  to  dine.  It  was  odd  or  would  have  been 
odd  in  anyone  but  a  woman.  Richard  had  ideas  on  the 
fickleness  of  women.  The  sex  was  unreliable  and  it  was 
only  a  waste  of  time  to  speculate  upon  what  one  would 
do  or  why  she  would  do  it.  Her  fickleness  was  an 
axiom,  a  fact  established  by  history  and  romance.  A 
sensible  man  just  admitted  it. 

He  found  Rose,  Philip  and  Stanley  already  in  the 
drawing-room.  Rose  had  lost  the  listless  indifferent  air 
she  had  worn  a  month  ago  and  was  all  aglow.  Her 

289 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


face  was  delicately  flushed  and  her  eyes  were  two  blue 
flames.  It  was  just  a  week  until  her  wedding  and  she 
had  rather  reluctantly  postponed  an  engagement — 
every  day,  and  every  evening,  too,  were  crowded  with 
prenuptial  gaieties — to  dine  quietly  with  her  aunt  and 
cousins.  She  would  never  have  done  it  if  Discretion 
had  not  whispered  in  her  pink  ear  that  it  would  be 
wise  to  break  any  engagement  to  accept  the  invitation 
of  her  only  aunt  with  millions. 

Philip  had  torn  himself  with  equal  reluctance  and  at 
the  same  whisper  from  kindly  Discretion,  from  a 
gathering  of  charity  workers,  who  dined  together  once 
a  month  in  a  dairy  lunch-room  and  discussed  their 
work.  He  had  been  chosen  to  lead  the  discussion  that 
night  and  he  mentally  reviewed  the  points  he  would 
have  made  as  he  stared  absently  at  the  bust  of  the 
youthful  Napoleon. 

Stanley  lounged  about  the  room  in  his  usual  aimless 
fashion.  He  was  only  waiting  for  his  sister's  marriage 
to  shake  the  dust  of  Waloo  from  his  feet  and  replace 
it  with  the  precious  earth  that  is  to  be  found  only  in 
New  York. 

The  three  gave  Richard  a  cordial  greeting.  Perhaps 
he  could  tell  them  why  they  had  been  summoned  to- 
night. Richard  always  wore  an  air  that  suggested  that 
he  knew  the  secrets  of  the  world.  But  if  there  was  any 
mystery  about  the  evening's  invitation  he  could  not 

290 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


throw  so  much  as  a  ray  of  light  upon  it.  His  aunt  had 
asked  him  to  come,  that  was  all  he  knew. 

"Judkins  said  she  wasn't  worried  over  the  burglary 
after  all,"  Philip  remarked  casually,  with  difficulty 
tearing  his  thoughts  from  a  particularly  fascinating 
problem,  how  to  make  the  chronic  drinking  man  an 
ideal  husband  for  the  woman  who  goes  out  to  work  by 
the  day. 

"All  that  silver  and  the  family  jewels!  I  should 
think  she  would  be  wild!"  Rose  knew  that  such  news 
would  send  her  into  hysterics  at  once.  "They  were 
only  a  trust  to  her,  anyway.  Have  the  police  heard 
anything  of  the  thieves,  Dick?  I  declare  it  makes  me 
afraid  to  go  to  bed,"  she  shivered.  "I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  what  might  happen  to  my  wedding  presents. 
They  are  adorable !  perfectly  adorable !  People  have 
been  so  generous  and  thoughtful  and  the  jewelers  un- 
derstand exactly  what  I  want,"  with  a  smile  at  the 
recollection  of  the  tables  heaped  with  costly  gifts. 

"She  wants  me  to  sleep  on  a  cot  in  the  room  with 
the  junk,"  Stanley  burst  out.  "What  do  you  think  of 
that  for  nerve,  Dick?" 

"It  is  a  very  comfortable  cot,"  Rose  insisted.  "Quite 
as  comfortable  as  his  bed." 

"I'm  no  watch  dog,"  grumbled  Stanley.  "And  you 
have  burglars  on  your  brain.  They  won't  come  back  to 
Waloo  in  a  hurry.  They  know  the  police  are  watching 

291 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


them.  There  are  other  pastures  just  as  green.  Is 
there  any  news,  Dick?"  he  asked  his  cousin  impatiently. 

"Yes,  the  police  got  the  fellows  this  afternoon,  up 
north  of  Prairieville  somewhere.  They  got  away  in  a 
motor  boat,  as  we  thought.  The  chief  telephoned  me 
just  before  I  left  the  office." 

"Goody!"  Rose  clapped  her  hands.  "Aunt  Martha 
should  give  me  the  sapphires.  I'm  the  oldest  niece  and 
I  should  have  them.  I'm  the  only  Cabot  niece!"  she 
added  as  if  she  had  just  discovered  the  fact. 

"H-sh."  Intent  as  he  was  on  drunken  husbands 
and  working  wives  Philip  heard  the  click  of  heels  on  the 
stairs. 

Madame  Cabot  and  Sallie  Waters  came  in  together. 
Madame  Cabot,  as  Judkins  had  said,  was  changed.  She 
looked  alive,  alert,  instead  of  like  a  beautiful,  serene 
statue  of  Age.  She  was  very  much  the  great  lady  in 
a  lustrous  black  velvet  as  soft  and  souple  as  satin  and 
she  wore  more  jewels  than  usual.  She  seemed  to  sparkle 
and  to  shine  as  she  greeted  them  cordially.  Rose  caught 
her  breath  when  she  saw  the  diamonds.  So  all  of  the 
Cabot  jewels  had  not  been  stolen.  Gossip  had  exag- 
gerated the  loss.  She  rather  thought  she  would  prefer 
the  diamonds  to  the  sapphires. 

Richard  watched  his  aunt  curiously  through  the  long 
formal  dinner  during  which  she  led  the  conversation. 
That  was  odd  for  her,  also.  To  be  sure  when  Judge 

£92 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Cabot  was  in  the  chair  he  occupied  now,  at  the  foot  of 
the  table,  he  had  monopolized  the  talk,  and  since  his 
death  Madame  Cabot  had  been  only  an  absent-minded 
presence,  contributing  nothing  but  a  bored  smile  to  the 
gaiety  of  the  meal.  Tonight  she  dominated  the  table. 
She  showed  a  human  interest  in  Rose's  trousseau,  the 
plans  for  her  wedding  and  asked  her  to  give  her  the 
next  morning  that  Rose  might  choose  her  wedding  gift. 

"I  shall  give  you  a  check,  of  course,"  she  promised 
with  a  smile,  "but  I'd  like  to  give  you  something  else, 
something  that  can  be  kept  and  handed  down,  jewels  or 
silver,"  vaguely.  "And,  Rose,  I  am  going  to  do  the 
house  over.  If  there  is  anything  in  it  that  you  fancy 
you  are  welcome  to  it.  Anything  but  the  Napoleon 
books  and  prints,"  she  corrected.  "I  am  going  to  send 
them  to  the  Waloo  library  to  be  known  as  the  Cabot 
collection." 

They  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"Going  to  do  all  of  the  house  over !"  Rose  exclaimed, 
trying  to  remember  the  old  mahogany  and  walnut  and 
decide  how  much  of  it  she  wanted  for  the  little  house 
on  Elm  Street.  She  could  return  to  the  shops  the  furni- 
ture that  she  had  bought.  Why,  she  wouldn't  need  to 
buy  anything  if  Aunt  Martha  really  meant  what  she 
said. 

"All  but  my  rooms.  I  had  them  done  over  in  the 
summer."  Once  Aunt  Martha  would  have  flushed  at 

293 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


the  thought  of  that  suite,  pink  enough  for  the  rosiest 
cheeked  debutante^  but  now  she  helped  herself  uncon- 
cernedly from  the  dish  Judkins  offered  her.  "The  rest 
of  the  house  does  not  express  me,"  she  went  on  tran- 
quilly. "It  expresses  Louis  the  Fifteenth,  some  of  it; 
and  Louis  the  Sixteenth.  The  library  certainly  ex- 
presses Napoleon.  But  nothing  expresses  me.  I  am 
going  to  see  if  I  can't  have  a  more  sympathetic  back- 
ground." And  then  she  turned  to  Stanley,  who  was 
looking  at  her  with  open-eyed  enjoyment,  and  voiced 
such  interest  and  honest  expectation  that  he  would  be  a 
great  artist  some  day  that  the  boy  choked  and  wondered 
if  that  interest  meant  another  check.  One  could  always 
expect  another  check  when  conversing  with  a  childless 
relative  whose  fortune  ran  into  seven  figures. 

But  it  was  to  Philip  that  Madame  Cabot  gave  her 
serious  attention.  She  asked  him  about  his  old  ladies 
and  his  young  babies,  his  old  men  and  his  boys'  clubs 
and  when  he  would  have  expressed  his  views  on  the  in- 
teresting problem  concerning  drunken  husbands  and 
working  wives  she  cut  him  short. 

"I  am  more  interested  in  prison  reform.  That  is  in 
the  reform  of  the  prisoners  after  they  leave  the  prisons. 
I  should  like  to  help  in  that  work.  Tell  me  where  to 
send  a  check?  And,  Philip,  I  wish  you  would  also  tell 
me  just  how  you  would  proceed  to  reform  a  criminal — 
a  thief,  for  instance?" 

294 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Philip  flushed  with  pleasure  and  began  to  tell  her 
exactly  how  he  would  proceed.  No  one  noticed  that 
Sallie  Waters'  fork  clattered  awkwardly  against  her 
plate.  Sallie  did  not  wear  her  twinkly  face  that  even- 
ing. All  of  her  dimples  were  in  hiding  and  her  blue- 
green  eyes  looked  tired.  She  had  evidently  found  her 
way  to  the  smartest  shop,  as  the  wise  J.  P.  of  Prairie- 
ville  had  prophesied,  for  her  gown  of  white  satin  and 
chiffon  was  the  very  latest  cry  of  Fashion.  Around 
her  neck  she  wore  the  string  of  seed  pearls  that  her 
aunt  had  given  her  on  her  eighteenth  birthday  and  in 
her  heart  she  carried  a  restless  longing  that  she  tried 
to  hide  behind  a  smile  when  anyone  glanced  toward  her. 
She  would  not  wear  her  heart  on  her  sleeve,  she  had  told 
herself  scornfully,  and  it  was  just  as  well  she  had  made 
that  decision.  There  was  neither  satin  nor  chiffon 
enough  in  her  sleeve  to  hold  a  heart. 

To  her  the  dinner  was  interminable  until  Philip  be- 
gan to  explain  how  he  would  reform  a  criminal.  Then 
she  bent  forward  eagerly,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes 
bright,  although  at  her  side  Stanley  was  explaining  in 
detail  his  plans  for  the  capture  of  New  York.  Sallie's 
lip  curled  as  she  heard  Philip's  method.  It  took  so 
many  words  to  explain  and  meant  so  little  when  it  was 
explained.  "Theory  and  practice,"  she  thought  sadly, 
"are  so  vastly  different."  And  they  are.  We  all  know 
how  different  they  are.  Philip  never  touched  on  a 

295 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


means  of  rousing  a  moral  sense,  a  proper  regard  for 
the  property  rights  of  others,  in  attractive  young  men 
a  girl  might  meet  if  she  were  storm-bound  in  a  lonely 
cottage  for  days  and  days.  His  plans  all  dealt  with 
meeting  thieves  and  murderers  at  the  prison  gates,  a 
far  more  simple  problem. 

At  last  Madame  Cabot  pushed  back  her  chair.  Sallie 
rose  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  came  straight  from  her 
white  satin  toes.  The  drawing-room  might  not  be  any 
more  amusing  but  it  would  be  at  least  a  change. 

Madame  Cabot  caught  her  arm.  "Cheer  up,  Sallie," 
she  murmured,  as  one  conspirator  to  another,  "I  have 
news  for  you." 

"Aunt  Martha!"  Sallie  caught  her  breath,  her  face 
a  blaze  of  color  first,  because  the  news,  if  it  was  what 
she  thought  it  was,  meant  so  much  to  her,  and  second 
because  in  spite  of  the  scant  material  in  her  sleeve  there 
must  have  been  room  for  her  heart  there.  Aunt  Martha 
had  seen  it.  "Wh-what  do  you  mean  ?"  Her  eyes  were 
very  big  and  almost  black  instead  of  either  blue  or 
green.  She  tried  to  draw  Madame  Cabot  away  from 
the  others,  to  the  library.  "You  haven't  heard — but,  of 
course,  you  haven't.  Oh,  it  seems  a  hundred  thousand 
years  since  we  left  the  cottage !"  extravagantly. 

"Three  days — a  scant  three  days,"  murmured 
Madame  Cabot. 

"Three  days  !"  Sallie  shook  her  head.    "You  haven't," 

296 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper  and  trembled  piteouslj, 
"you  haven't  heard  from — from  Smith  or — or  John 
Johnson?"  She  put  her  hands  on  her  aunt's  shoulders 
and  bent  to  look  into  her  face.  Her  own  face  was 
white  now,  every  bit  of  color  had  been  drained  from  it. 
"They  haven't  been  caught,  Aunt  Martha?"  She  shook 
her.  "You'd  have  told  me  if  the  police — "  She 
stopped.  She  could  not  say  it,  she  could  only  look  at 
Aunt  Martha  pleadingly. 

"No,  no,  child!"  Aunt  Martha  spoke  quickly  and 
firmly.  "The  police  have  not  taken  Smith  Jones  nor 
John  Johnson  to  jail.  Truly.  I  told  you  I  wouldn't 
let  them.  Don't  you  remember?  Can't  you  trust  me, 
Sallie?"  she  begged. 

Sallie  looked  at  her  searchingly  before  she  threw  back 
her  head  and  made  an  attempt  to  smile  to  show  that 
she  would  trust  her.  "It's  all  right,  Aunt  Martha," 
bravely.  "I'm  a  silly  idiot  but  you  see — you  see — 
We  were  such  good  friends — up  there.  It  hurts  a  bit 
to  think  you  are  forgotten  by  people  you — you  thought 
were  your  friends — even  if  they  are  thieves." 

Aunt  Martha  bit  her  lip.  There  were  things  she  could 
tell  Sallie  but  she  was  not  quite  ready.  She  hated  to 
hurt  her  but  surely  Sallie  could  wait — she  was  young — 
why,  she  was  not  twenty ! — she  had  all  of  her  life  before 
her.  What  did  a  few  days  now  matter.  She  patted 
Sallie's  shoulder.  "You're  not  forgotten,"  she  said 

30  297 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


soothingly.  "No  one  could  forget  you.  Come  and  get 
your  coffee,"  she  added  hurriedly,  for  if  she  were  left 
alone  with  Sallie  much  longer  she  might  say  more  than 
she  was  ready  to  say.  "I  have  something  to  tell  you 
all." 

Sallie's  face  fell,  the  eager  light  died  out  of  her  eyes 
and  the  dull  pain  came  back  to  her  heart.  News  for 
all  of  them  would  not  be  the  same  as  newte  for  her 
alone ;  not  at  all  the  same.  But  she  must  not  spoil  Aunt 
Martha's  party.  It  was  not  Aunt  Martha's  fault.  She 
had  no,  one  to  blame  but  herself  if  she  burned  her 
fingers  when  she  would  play  with  fire.  Aunt  Martha 
had  not  asked  to  be  kidnapped.  She  straightened  her- 
self gallantly  and  put  her  hand  under  Aunt  Martha's 
arm. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  she  said.  "Come  and  tell  us  your 
news.  Has  the  black  kitten  run  away?" 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

MADAME  CABOT,  who  was  in  the  most  com- 
fortable chair  now,  instead  of  Stanley,  looked 
around  her  little  circle. 

"I  asked  you  to  come  tonight,"  she  began  in  her  soft 
low  voice  that  was  Rose's  envy  and  despair,  "because  I 
have  something  to  tell  you."  It  was  not  politeness  that 
made  them  sit  up  straighter  and  look  toward  her  with 
courteous  interest.  Curiosity  was  written  in  large  black 
letters  on  their  minds  if  not  their  faces.  "Something 
that  I  think  will  surprise  you  as  it  surprised  me.  No, 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  burglary,"  as  Richard 
opened  his  mouth.  "That  is  immaterial  although  I  can 
tell  you  what  I  know  about  the  thieves  later." 

They  stared  at  her,  all  but  Sallie  Waters.  The  loss 
of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  worth  of  silver  and 
jewels  immaterial!  Richard  shut  his  mouth  with  the 
words  inside.  It  would  be  a  waste  of  breath  to  utter 
them  to  a  woman  who  held  such  opinions. 

"You  know  that  your  uncle  left  his  property  to  me. 

299 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


I  was  to  leave  it  to  a  member  of  the  family.  There  was 
no  more  of  an  obligation  to  give  it  to  one  of  you  than 
to  another — that  is  legal  obligation.  There  might  be  a 
moral  obligation,  for  your  uncle  had  asked  me  to  leave 
it  to  the  one  who  was  most  worthy  to  take  care  of  it. 
You  were  the  family,  the  natural  heirs.  There  were 
no  children.  Your  uncle's  only  son  had  quarreled  with 
his  father  over  thirty  years  ago  and  gone  away.  He 
was  dead.  So  I  told  you — it  is  less  than  a  month  ago — 
that  I  wished  you  to  help  me  find  which  one  of  you  was 
the  best  fitted  to  take  care  of  the  property.  The  next 
morning  each  of  you  received  a  check  for  five  thousand 
dollars."  She  stopped  to  look  at  each  of  them.  Each 
nodded  and  smiled.  Each  had  received  a  check. 

Richard  thought  with  satisfaction  of  the  way  that 
five  thousand  dollars  had  increased.  If  it  had  been  a 
boy  it  would  have  outgrown  several  suits  of  clothes  it 
had  lengthened  so  fast.  Philip  remembered  the  little 
loan  fund  he  had  been  able  to  establish  and  the  borrowers 
marched  before  his  satisfied  eyes  in  a  pitifully  grateful 
string.  Stanley  patted  his  pocket  as  if  to  remind  him- 
self that  he  had  New  York  right  there.  Rose  flushed 
deliciously  at  the  recollection  of  the  heaps  of  beautiful 
things  that  make  a  trousseau  when  the  purse  is  full. 
Sallie  shivered.  If  she  had  not  received  the  check  she 
never  would  have  kidnapped  her  aunt  and  if  she  had 
not  kidnapped  her  aunt  she  never — but  after  all  she  was 

300 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


glad  she  had,  glad  to  have  met  men  like  John  Johnson 
and  the  J.  P.  and  the  grower  of  prize  Wealthy  apples 
and — yes !  she  was  gladdest  of  all  to  have  met  a  man  like 
Smith  Jones.  Meeting  him  had  taught  her  how  much 
good  there  was  in  men  even  if — even  if 

"I  told  you,"  Madame  Cabot  went  on,  "that  I  did  not 
wish  you  to  account  to  me  for  the  spending  of  the  money 
for  a  year.  You  were  to  have  twelve  months  to  show 
what  you  would  do  with  it.  And  the  one  who  made  the 
best  use  of  it  should  be  the  heir  to  the  Cabot  fortune. 
Well,  I  have  changed  my  mind."  She  launched  the 
thunderbolt  at  them  somewhat  anxiously.  She  did  not 
like  to  disappoint  them  but  she  had  made  up  her  mind. 
It  was  such  a  short  time  since  she  had  discovered  that 
she  could  make  up  her  mind  by  herself  that  the  process 
was  often  a  perplexity  as  well  as  a  delight. 

Again  they  stared  at  her.  And  again  Richard  opened 
his  mouth  to  shut  it  with  the  words  inside  After  all 
she  had  a  right  to  do  as  she  pleased  and  he  was  much 
better  off  for  her  whim.  They  all  were.  He  would  hear 
what  else  she  had  to  say  before  he  expressed  any  por- 
tion of  his  mind. 

"The  reason  I  have  changed  my  mind,"  Madame  Cab- 
ot's voice  shook  and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  "is 
that  I  have  learned  that  your  cousin  Joshua,  your 
uncle's  only  son,  left  a  son — Joshua  Cabot  the  third." 
There  was  unutterable  tenderness  in  the  words. 

21  301 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"What!"  They  were  amazed.  In  all  these  years 
there  had  never  been  a  hint  of  a  son  of  Joshua  the 
second. 

"Yes,"  Madame  Cabot  wiped  her  eyes  openly  and 
unashamed.  "A  son.  Can  you  imagine  what  that 
means  to  me  ?  After  all  these  years.  A  son  of  the  little 
lad  I  loved.  You  remember  that  after  Joe  quarreled 
with  his  father  there  was  no  communication  between 
them.  We  heard  absolutely  nothing  for  years  and 
then  only  that  Joe  had  died.  I  have  learned  that  he  went 
west  and  prospered.  He  was  such  a  clever  boy.  He 
married  but  his  wife  died  at  his  son's  birth.  I  have 
a  fancy  that  if  she  had  lived  Joe  would  have  tried 
to  see  his  father  again  and  they  would  have  been 
reconciled.  Her  death  made  him  very  bitter.  I  have 
read  his  journal  and  it  is  heart  breaking.  He  devoted 
himself  to  his  little  son.  The  two  were  inseparable. 
Joe  grew  to  hate  the  world  and  he  built  a  cottage  in  the 
country,  miles  from  anyone,  and  lived  there  with  his 
boy,  alone,  except  for  the  boy's  nurse,  a  motherly 
soul,  who  adored  the  child.  Then  Joe  died,"  her  voice 
broke.  "The  little  boy  was  not  eight  years  old  but  he 
was  sent  to  school.  What  wouldn't  I  have  given  to 
have  had  him  here — with  us !  He  knew  nothing  of  his 
father's  family  and  very  little  of  his  mother's  people. 
All  he  had  was  his  father's  journal  and  that  was  full  of 
bitterness  toward  everybody  and  toward  the  world.  It 

302 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


was  just  by  the  merest  chance  that  young  Joe  was  dis- 
covered and  I  had  an  opportunity  to  let  him  know  how 
much  we  want  to  have  him  with  us." 

There  was  silence  when  she  paused.  Sallie  slipped 
across  the  room  to  kiss  her  tear-wet  cheek.  Madame 
Cabot  patted  her  face  with  loving  fingers.  Richard 
opened  his  mouth,  for  the  third  time,  and  spoke. 

"I  am  very  glad  for  your  sake,  Aunt  Martha."  And 
he  tried  to  make  his  voice  sound  glad. 

"We  are  all  glad,"  Philip  added  nobly.  «It  will 
seem  odd  to  have  a  full  grown  cousin  we  have  never 
heard  of.  What  kind  of  a  chap  is  he,  Aunt  Martha?" 
It  was  only  decent  to  show  an  interest  in  the  new  rela- 
tion even  if  his  discovery  had  upset  all  of  their  apple 
carts. 

"A  splendid  man !"  There  was  no  doubt  of  Aunt 
Martha's  opinion.  Her  voice  fairly  reeked  with  admira- 
tion. "He's  splendid !"  She  hesitated  as  if  it  were  al- 
most impossible  to  find  words  with  which  to  tell  them 
how  splendid  Joshua  Cabot  the  third  was  in  her  estima- 
tion. "He  is  a  lawyer,"  she  went  on  tearfully,  "that  is 
he  has  been  a  lawyer.  His  father  begged  him  to  study 
law  and  then  practice  for  at  least  a  few  years.  Joe 
was  a  lawyer,  you  know,  and  his  father  before  him.  The 
fact  that  Joe  wished  his  boy  to  follow  the  profession 
that  brought  such  great  honors  to  his  father  means  a 
lot  to  me.  It  is  a  sign  that  Joe's  heart  softened.  Oh, 

803 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


if  the  two  could  have  been  brought  together !  Young 
Joe  has  been  in  Chicago.  But  he  doesn't  like  the  law. 
He  wasn't  a  corporation  lawyer,  like  your  uncle,  he  was 
associated  with  the  district  attorney  first  and  then  with 
a  court,  the  municipal  court,  I  think  he  said.  He  wasn't 
the  judge,  you  know,  but  he  was  something,"  vaguely, 
"and  he  grew  to  hate  the  work  and  the  place.  He  said 
it  seemed  as  if  every  man  in  the  world  was  a — a  crook," 
the  word  on  her  lips  sounded  odd  to  the  Cabots  and 
sent  a  pang  to  the  heart  of  Sallie  Waters,  "or  a  thief 
or  a  murderer.  He  only  studied  law  because  his  father 
made  such  a  point  of  it  and  to  prove  to  himself  that 
he  didn't  like  it  and  was  not  suited  to  it.  Machinery 
has  been  his  hobby  always  and  he  has  invented  several 
things,"  she  announced  the  fact  proudly.  "And  has 
secured  patents  on  them !"  As  if  only  the  cleverest  few 
could  obtain  patents.  "He  is  going  to  give  up  the  law 
now  and  devote  his  time  to  his  inventions.  I  asked  him  to 
come  here  this  evening  but  first  I  must  explain  that  I 
told  him  about  your  uncle's  will.  I  told  him,  also, 
that  now  everything  would  go  to  him,  to  the  only  son 
of  his  father,  who  was  an  only  son.  But  Joe  has  a 
fortune  of  his  own.  His  mother  was  very  wealthy,  and 
he  refuses  to  accept  it  all.  He  said  it  was  not  fair  to 
you,  that  you  had  been  brought  up  to  think  that  it 
would  be  yours  some  day.  At  last  I  did  persuade  him 
to  agree  to  a  division,  to  accept  a  share  as  a  gift  from 

304 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


his  grandfather,  who  would  have  given  him  everything 
— I  know  he  would ! — if  he  had  only  known  of  his  exis- 
tence." 

Again  there  was  silence.  All  of  them  could  not  have 
expected  to  receive  all  of  the  Cabot  fortune.  A  division 
would  give  each  of  them  considerable  and  half  a  loaf, 
as  they  all  knew,  is  far,  far  better  than  no  bread  at  all, 
so  they  smiled  as  pleasantly  as  they  could  and  told  her 
that  she  was  quite  right,  that  young  Joshua  was  very 
generous,  that  they  had  no  right  to  expect  anything 
from  him. 

Madame  Cabot  smiled  at  them  approvingly.  "You 
cannot  imagine  what  this  means  to  me,"  she  said;  and 
it  was  true,  they  could  not.  "To  think  of  finding  my 
Joe's  little  boy.  What  time  is  it,  Stanley?  He  prom- 
ised to  be  here  at  half  after  nine  at  the  latest." 

Somewhere  in  the  house  Grandfather  Clock  gravely 
sounded  the  half  hour  and  it  was  not  sixty  seconds  later 
that  Judkins,  solemnly  alive  to  the  importance  of  the 
occasion,  did  as  he  had  been  told  to  do  and  announced: 

"Mr.  Joshua  Cabot." 


CHAPTER    XXV 

THERE  was  a  rustle  and  a  stir  as  twelve  eyes 
turned  curiously  toward  the  door.  When  Sallie 
Waters  saw  a  tall  well-built  figure  topped  by 
a  head  thatched  with  brown,  when  her  eyes  met  a  pair 
of  honest  blue-gray  eyes,  that  found  her  even  before 
they  did  Madame  Cabot,  she  gave  a  little  cry  and  rose 
from  her  chair  as  if  drawn  by  a  magnet. 

Her  eyes  were  deceiving  her.  Smith  Jones  could  not 
be  her  great  aunt's  step-grandson.  He  just  couldn't 
be  Joshua  Cabot  the  third.  Why — why,  Smith  Jones 
was  a  thief !  the  man  who  had  robbed  the  Cabot  house ! 
Her  face  was  as  colorless  as  her  gown  and  she  swayed 
a  bit. 

"Oh,"  she  whimpered  in  a  whisper  that  was  full  of 
awed  wonder,  "it — it  isn't  true !  It  c-can't  be  true !" 

Young  Joshua  Cabot  greeted  his  step-grandmother 
and  shook  hands  with  all  of  his  new-found  cousins  be- 
fore he  came  to  Sallie  Waters,  and  then  he  took  both 
of  her  hands  as  if  one  would  not  satisfy  him.  Sallie 

306 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


went  hot  and  cold.  She  thought  the  beating  of  her 
heart  would  suffocate  her.  She  could  not  look  up  and 
meet  the  flame  that  burned  in  his  eyes.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  really  knew  what  it  was  to  be  shy. 
She  felt  conscious  from  head  to  heels,  and  the  wave  of 
color  that  crept  up  to  the  soft  cloud  of  her  yellow  hair 
announced  the  fact  to  anyone  who  glanced  at  her. 

She  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  to  this  stranger 
who  was  also  such  an  old  and  dear  friend.  She  could 
only  let  him  take  her  fingers  and  hold  them  in  a  close 
warm  grasp  in  a  silence  that  was  heavy  with  meaning. 
And  then,  while  Joe  Cabot  answered  the  cordial  re- 
marks of  Richard  and  Philip  and  Stanley  and  Rose, 
Sallie  ran  away  to  the  deserted  library. 

From  camp  and  throne,  from  horse  and  foot,  the 
pictured  Napoleon  gave  her  a  coldly  calculating  glance, 
but  Sallie  never  looked  at  him.  She  drew  a  long  breath 
when  she  was  safely  over  the  threshold  and  went  to  a 
window  recess  where  jutting  bookcases  kindly  did  their 
best  to  conceal  a  portion  of  her  body.  There  she 
waited,  ostrichlike,  for  what  she  knew,  with  a  quiver 
in  every  nerve,  would  happen. 

There  was  a  step  in  the  hall,  on  the  threshold.  It 
came  straight  to  her  hiding  place.  With  a  low  ex- 
clamation, Joe  Cabot  caught  her  hands  and  drew  her 
from  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  faded  velvet  hangings, 
the  jutting  bookcases,  into  the  very  center  of  the  room. 

307 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"My  dearest — dearest!  My  darling!"  he  whispered 
as  he  took  her  into  his  arms  without  any  preliminary 
"May  I?" 

Sallie  quivered  deliciously  from  heels  to  head  and  let 
him  hold  her  close  to  his  thumping  heart.  She  was 
conscious  only  of  a  great  feeling  of  satisfaction  that 
at  last  she  had  found  the  very  place  for  which  she  had 
been  created.  She  knew  that  she  had  been  made  ex- 
clusively for  the  measure  of  Joe  Cabot's  arms. 

"You  little  witch."  Joe  Cabot's  voice  was  as  smooth 
as  satin  and  it  had  odd  little  quavers  in  it  as  there 
are  high  lights  in  satin.  "You  stole  into  my  heart, 
honey  girl,  that  first  night  when  we  picked  the  lock  of 
the  cottage  door  together."  And  he  laughed  softly, 
happily,  at  the  memory. 

Stole.  Picked  a  lock.  Sallie  put  up  a  trembling 
brown  paw  and  pushed  him  from  her. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  and  her  face  turned  as  crimson  as 
the  imperial  Napoleon's  imperial  robes.  "I — I  thought 
you  were  a-a  thief."  She  shut  her  eyes  and  waited, 
feeling  that  her  suspicions  had  closed  the  gates  of  Para- 
dise in  her  very  face.  Joe  Cabot  would  never  forgive 
her  for  them. 

"Thief?"  How  broad-minded  he  was  for  while  he 
appeared  astonished  he  did  not  seem  deeply  injured. 

"Yes."  She  confessed  it  miserably.  "You  know  you 
said  you  could  pick  any  lock  that  was  made." 

808 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


"I  can.  I  give  you  my  word.  I  am  a  regular  wizard 
with  locks." 

"And  the  newspaper  description  of  the  men  who 
robbed  this  house  fitted  you  and  John — John  John- 
son  " 

"John  Burton  is  his  real  name,"  he  corrected  gently. 

"And  then  the  ring  with  the  Cabot  coat  of  arms," 
Sallie  went  on  desperately. 

"Was  my  father's  but  it  shall  be  yours  if  you  want  it, 
although  I  shall  have  another  for  you."  He  kissed 
the  finger  which  would  wear  his  ring. 

"And  the  locket?"  breathlessly.  Sallie  was  finding  it 
very  easy  to  confess.  The  gates  of  Paradise  were  not 
being  closed  in  her  face. 

"Was  one  that  Aunt  Martha — I  am  going  to  keep 
on  calling  her  Aunt  Martha.  I  have  dear  associations 
with  that  name  while  grandmother  means  nothing  to 
me — Aunt  Martha,  bless  her  heart!  gave  the  locket  to 
my  father  when  he  went  to  college.  It  was  copied  from 
one  grandfather  had.  No  wonder  your  dear  little  brain 
was  puzzled." 

"And  the  silver  was  yours,  too.  Of  course  it  was 
marked  with  the  Cabot  crest!  But  you  didn't  want 
to  meet  the  Chicago  detective,  nor  the  J.  P."  She  fin- 
ished her  evidence  and  punctuated  it  with  a  tremulous 
laugh  for  a  period. 

He  looked  at  her  keenly  and  took  a  sudden  determina- 

309 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


tion.  John  had  told  him  that  he  would  be  several 
kinds  of  a  fool  if  he  ever  told  her,  but  he  would  take  a 
chance.  He  had  been  told  that  Happiness  is  founded 
on  mutual  confidence.  He  wished  his  happiness  to  have 
the  very  firmest  of  foundations. 

"Do  you  know  why?"  he  asked,  and  when  she  had 
shaken  her  yellow  head  his  arms  drew  her  closer  to  him. 
"It  was  because  I  thought  that  you  were  a  thief. 
Wait  a  minute !"  as  she  would  have  pulled  herself  away 
in  her  surprise  and  horror.  He  closed  her  protesting 
lips  with  a  kiss.  "You  know  you  were — are — the  most 
fascinating  girl  I  ever  ran  across.  I  couldn't  under- 
stand what  you  and  Aunt  Martha,  both  of  you  so  un- 
usual, were  doing  motoring  about  in  a  high-priced  road- 
ster alone.  Aunt  Martha,  you  know,  suggests  foot- 
men and  chauffeurs  and  limousines  and  you  don't  seem, 
honey  mine,  like  a  girl  who  has  ever  knocked  about  for 
herself.  And  then  that  roll  of  bills.  I  had  read  in 
the  Waloo  Gazette  of  the  robbery  of  the  Marston  house 
and  the  money  that  was  taken  from  it.  The  police  sus- 
pected a  girl  they  called  Sallie — Ma'm'selle  Sallie — and 
an  older  woman,  the  Duchess.  You  shivered  and  turned 
pale  whenever  the  police  were  mentioned  and  so,  when  I 
put  two  and  two  together  I  thought  you  were  that 
strange  creature — a  society  thief.  Yes,  I  did,"  stoutly. 
"I  am  ashamed  of  it  now  but  I  did.  And  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  you  should  not  be  caught,  that  I'd  kill  any 

310 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


officer  who  dared  to  put  a  finger  on  you.  John  and  I 
had  it  all  planned  out.  We  were  going  to  get  you 
across  to  Canada  and  then " 

"And  then — "  Sallie  interrupted  gleefully.  She  had 
listened  to  the  explanation  with  the  largest  eyes  he  had 
ever  seen. 

"And  then  I  should  have  married  you  whether  you 
would  or  no."  He  bent  his  tall  head  and  kissed  her 
lips. 

She  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it  and  she  re- 
turned his  Idss  with  one  of  her  own  that  was  just  as 
ardent.  "And  you  would  have  married  me  thinking  I 
was  a  thief?"  She  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  the 
noblest  work  of  God. 

"And  you  would  have  married  me  thinking  I  was  a 
thief?"  he  said  with  even  more  awe  and  admiration. 

Her  arms  slipped  up  around  his  neck.  "I  would! 
I  would!"  she  confessed  fiercely.  "I  was  going  to  re- 
form you,"  she  whispered  and  she  did  not  understand 
why  he  swept  her  closer  in  a  passionate  embrace  nor  why 
his  voice  trembled  when  he  murmured: 

"You  wonderful  little  reformer.  You  brave  love  of 
a  girl." 

"Well,  Sallie,  I  told  you  I  had  a  surprise  for  you 
tonight."  Aunt  Martha  had  waited  as  long  as  she 
could.  She  stood  on  the  threshold  and  looked  at 

Sll 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


them  with  eyes  brimfull  of  tenderness  and  sympathy. 

"You  darling  old  duck  of  a  fraud !"  Sallie  deserted 
Joe  Cabot  to  fly  to  his  step-grandmother.  "Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  before?  Why  didn't  you  give  me  at  least 
a  hint?  I've  been  the  most  miserable  girl  in  the  world 
since  we  left  the  cottage.  I've  nearly  died,"  she  con- 
fessed frankly.  "Oh,  Aunt  Martha,  don't  ever  tell  me 
that  women  belong  in  the  home.  Why,  if  we  had  stayed 
in  it,  if  we  hadn't  gone  out  of  it,  we  never — never! — 
would  have  found  this  darling  Joe  Cabot!"  And  she 
looked  as  if  never  finding  Joe  Cabot  would  have  been 
the  greatest  catastrophe  that  could  have  befallen  a 
suffering  world. 

Joe  Cabot  laughed  and  followed  her  to  slip  an  arm 
around  each  of  them. 

"Don't  think  that  for  a  minute.  If  you  hadn't  found 
me  I  should  have  found  you.  It  was  predestined." 

Sallie  eyed  him  from  under  tear-wet  lashes.  "I 
wonder?  I  wish  I  had  been  sure  of  that  when  I  said 
good-by  to  you  at  the  cottage.  Isn't  it  curious,"  she 
turned  to  her  aunt,  "that  our  adventure  has  brought  us 
right  back  to  the  Cabots — right  back  home  ?  Home — . 
It's  a  big  word,  isn't  it?"  thoughtfully,  as  if  she  had 
discovered  new  meanings  in  it  as,  indeed,  she  had.  She 
drew  in  her  breath  quickly.  "It's — it's  a  tre-men-du- 
ous  word !" 

It  was  to  Joe  Cabot  now,  also,  but  he  only  said  teas- 
Si  2 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


ingly :  "You'll  agree  with  old  Samuel  Johnson  that  to 
be  happy  at  home  is  the  ultimate  end  of  all  ambition." 

Sallie's  face  was  all  stars  and  dimples  as  she  answered 
from  the  very  depths  of  a  full  heart.  "I  do!  Oh,  I 
do !  It  should  be  if  it  isn't.  It's  the  biggest  ambition 
a  person  could  have,  man  or  woman.  Home — why  it's 
one's  world!" 

"It  will  be  our  Heaven,"  promised  Joe  Cabot. 

"Aunt  Martha."  It  was  Philip's  voice  now  and  he 
stood  hesitatingly  on  the  threshold,  "you  asked  me  last 
time  I  saw  you  to  make  out  a  list  of  books  on  the  Old 
Testament  heroes.  I  talked  it  over  with  the  rector  and 
here  it  is."  He  offered  her  a  folded  sheet  of  paper. 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  took  it.  "Thank  you, 
Philip.  That  is  very  good  of  you  and  the  rector.  I'll 
put  it  away  for  a  few  years.  I  don't  feel  as  old  as  I 
did,  so  near  the  grave.  Why,  I  find  I'm  young  enough 
to  be  interested  in  this  world  for7  a  while  longer.  I  have 
a  real  interest  in  it  now."  And  with  her  right  hand 
she  patted  the  arm  of  Joe  Cabot  and  with  her  left  hand 
she  patted  the  fingers  of  Sallie  Waters.  "I  have  discov- 
ered that  there  is  a  lot  in  the  world  to  interest  even  a 
woman  of  sixty-three  if  she  will  think  of  something  be- 
side herself." 

"Such  as  ?"  murmured  light-minded,  no,  light-hearted 
Sallie  Waters. 

313 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


Very  properly  Madame  Cabot  refused  to  answer  her. 
"Come,  we  must  go  back  to  the  others,"  she  said  instead. 

But  Sallie  Waters  and  Joe  Cabot  did  not  go.  They 
remained  with  the  scornful  Napoleon. 

"And  you  don't  really  mind  that  I  thought  you  were 
a  thief?"  asked  Sallie,  who  was  far  too  much  of  a 
woman  to  let  well  enough  alone.  "A  gentleman  thief?" 
she  added  hastily,  as  if  there  was  a  vast  difference  in 
thieves. 

Joe  Cabot  had  his  arms  about  her  again  and  he  did 
not  look  as  if  he  minded  anything.  "Not  any  more 
than  you  mind  my  thinking  that  you  were  a  thief — a 
perfect  lady  thief,"  he  laughed. 

"When  did  you  find  out  that  I  wasn't?"  She  em- 
phasized the  question  with  a  little  pull  at  the  lapel  of 
his  coat. 

"The  night  before  you  left.  Aunt  Martha  told  me, 
when  she  told  me  who  she  was.  I  don't  know  when  I 
have  been  so  surprised — not  that  you  weren't  a  perfect 
lady  thief,  queen  of  my  heart,"  he  touched  her  forehead 
with  his  lips,  "although  that  was  something  of  a  shock 
— but  to  hear  who  you  were  and  who  Aunt  Martha  was. 
She  swore  me  to  secrecy.  She  wanted  to  tell  you  in  her 
own  way  and  I — I  guess  I  was  too  amazed  to  object. 
You  know  I've  been  a  lonely  chap,  without  relatives  all 
my  life  until  now."  His  arms  tightened  about  her. 

"You're  never  going  to  be  lonely  again,"  she  cried. 

314 


Up  the  Road  with  Sallie 


She  fiercely  resented  those  lonely  years.  If  she  had  had 
her  way  Joe  Cabot  would  have  been  surrounded  with 
loving  relatives  all  of  his  life. 

"Never  again."  He  kissed  her  softly  and  there  was 
a  world  of  satisfaction  in  his  irregular  features. 

"And  I'm  not  going  to  be  lonely  either."  Sallie  had 
made  an  amazing  discovery  and  her  face  glowed.  "We 
aren't  either  of  us  ever  going  to  be  lonely  again." 

"We  are  not,"  Joe  Cabot  promptly  agreed. 

For  almost  sixty  seconds  Sallie  was  silent.  Then 
she  looked  up  and  an  odd  little  smile  lifted  the  corners 
of  her  lips.  "You  know,  you  weren't  so  far  wrong 
when  you  said  that  Sallie  Waters  was  a  thief.  She 
stole  your  locket,  the  miniature  of  Aunt  Martha."  She 
tried  to  look  properly  ashamed  but  failed  miserably. 

"She  stole  more  than  that!"  Joe  Cabot  succeeded  in 
keeping  the  corners  of  his  mouth  down  so  that  he  looked 
very  stern. 

"Bad  Sallie  Waters,"  sighed  Sallie  with  a  shake  of 
her  head  at  the  hopeless  incorrigibility  of  the  person 
under  discussion.  "You  mean " 

"She  stole  the  very  heart  from  me,"  he  murmured 
into  the  pink  ear  that  was  so  very  close  to  his  lips. 

"She  did!"  Sallie  was  shocked  and  amazed  before 
she  giggled.  "She  never!  She  just  exchanged  it  for 
a  perfectly  good  heart  of  her  very  own." 

(i) 


LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000129895     9 


